


Black Silk

by MinMinn



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 17-18th Century, Alternate Universe, Anal, Blow Job, Bondage, Captain Yuuri "Kurokinu" Katsuki, Combat, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, Google is cool, Kissing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period Typical Attitudes, Pirate AU, Pirates, Slavery, Smut, an inability to voice emotions like adults, but a warning just in case, combat appropriate deaths, depictions of violence, future dubcon, knife play ish?, pirate names, relatively historically accurate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-09-26 08:17:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20386579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinMinn/pseuds/MinMinn
Summary: His eyes travelled across tightly bound ropes. Across expensive silk and brocade. Across squirming limbs straining at bonds.There, perched on his bed – silver wig dishevelled and coming loose, a tight gag stuffed in a small, soft mouth, eyes bright blue and watery in the dim candlelight of Yuuri’s room - was a man.The most beautiful man Yuuri had ever seen.Or, the Pirate AU absolutely NOBODY asked for but they're gettin anyway.





	1. Squall

**Author's Note:**

> A FEW NOTES BEFORE WE BEGIN
> 
> This is set roughly in the 17-18th Century. The world was pretty shitty back then. I'll explain more as its appropriate, but expect some strange attitudes, as well as WILD historical inaccuracies. Holy shit, there's going to be so many inaccuracies.
> 
> Listen to [ this ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4_ANxTOG_Xk) if you want a background mood.
> 
> Some explanations:
> 
> _Kurokinu_ = "Black Silk"  
_Susano'o_ (pronounced like [ this ](https://forvo.com/word/susanoo/)) = the name of Yuuri's ship  
"Smooth" = Chris, Yuuri's pilot/helmsman  
"Mum" = Minako, surgeon

The Captain felt a bullet scrape his cheek, drawing blood. The trickle of it distracted him momentarily – it wasn’t an uncommon feeling, but after years without a scratch, it felt uncomfortable.

It was the first sign that something wasn’t right

Captain _Kurokinu_ – or, as his most trusted crew-members knew him, Yuuri Katsuki - found himself in the middle of yet another fire fight, pistol in one hand, sword in the other. The weight of them was familiar. Grounding. As he rubbed a thumb over the hilt of his cutlass - a weapon even dearer to him than his own ship - he felt his confidence return, ignoring the smart in his left cheek where the bullet had caught him. It would heal, he knew. Add to his collection.

The most important thing, after all - as he’d told his crew numerous times - was getting to the hold of the ship. 

In front of him, Yuuri could see three guardsmen, dressed as pompous as ever with their perfectly pressed uniforms, all glimmering gold and dark blue, kneeling and firing their rifles with military precision.

Their training only served to make them that much more predictable.

Yuuri spun effortlessly as another volley peppered the spot where he was standing, angling his feet _just _so and dancing into another of the guardsmen. With his back to Yuuri, he hardly noticed his approach, locked in fierce combat with one of Yuuri’s crewmen – Smooth – who towered above him all brawn and ferocity. Despite Smooth’s lithe frame, he was one of Yuuri’s strongest men, able to cleave skulls in two as easy as carving bread.

And as Smooth caught Yuuri’s eye, he angled the guard’s back, allowing Yuuri to make quick work of him – one precise jab to the left of his spine, angled up to pierce the heart. A methodical kill. He fell limp, crashing into a lifeless heap as Yuuri flicked his blade, blood splattering the decking.

“Thanks Captain,” Smooth said in his lilting voice, offering a conciliatory wink that Yuuri smirked at.

“What would you do without me?” he sighed, ducking swiftly as another guardsman attempted to swing a sword at his neck, the blade skimming over loose strands of black hair. Another quick flick of Yuuri’s arm had his cutlass gliding through the man’s perfect uniform, painting it red, and the man tumbled to the deck at Yuuri’s feet, pristine coat perfectly ruined.

“The hold,” Smooth gasped, shrugging out of another guard’s grip, tossing his now lifeless form over the railing where it splashed into the roiling ocean.

That was another sign that something wasn’t quite right, Yuuri found. As unsuperstitious as Yuuri claimed to be, he couldn’t help but feel unsettled at the sudden storm. It made the ambush that much more difficult – their crew only able to spot the ship when it was far too late, engaging at the wrong angle and forcing them to veer around in order to start canon fire. They had planned to board from the starboard side rather than port, and the shift in plans had his crew disoriented. It had given _The Legacy_ the upper hand far too early, _Susano’o_ suffering fire first, though luckily nothing of import had been damaged.

And when the boarding party had finally made their way to _The Legacy’s_ deck, the squall had risen, causing large sprays of sea water to blind them, turning the skirmish ugly before any blood had even been spilt.

They had regained confidence with Yuuri’s help, the ocean soon littered with far more fancily-dressed corpses than simply-dressed ones. Yet for every man he lost, no matter how few, Yuuri felt himself grow all the more determined. They’d been planning this ambush for weeks. Every man knew the cost. But he’d be damned if their loss went unavenged.

The entire operation was steeped in vengeance, after all.

“We have to clear a way through,” Yuuri said with short, clipped words. He could feel his blood rising with every kill, desperation threatening to take over as the entrance to the hold drew maddeningly close, yet remained consistently surrounded, new guardsmen pouring out of doors and hatches like a rising tide.

As he scanned the men surrounding them, Yuuri’s eyes fell on Splinter caught in the fray, darting across rigging as easy as breathing. His feet deftly found purchase as his slim frame wove like water, dodging bullets and blades effortlessly. As he came to rest halfway up the mast, one leg locked around the wood to keep him in place, Splinter seemed to notice them. He flashed a trademark grin, dashing to turn and land solidly on the deck beside them. He had two ornate daggers in hand – his own beloved weapons – and as he spun them effortlessly, he connected with another of the guardsmen, carving at his kidneys in a surprise flank attack. It didn’t take long for the guard to fall limp alongside the others, and Splinter straightened with all the grace of a dancer as he wiped his blades on the seat of his breeches. His eyes were bright, almost crazed in an expression that Yuuri knew well.

He nodded at his first mate with familiarity, admiring how Splinter’s face was still unmarred despite how rough the battle had become.

“Go, Captain,” Splinter said in a ragged voice, wiping at his mouth as he gasped for breath. “Smooth and I will take care of these fuckers.”

A new group of guardsmen were now filing towards them, footsteps practiced, rifles at their sides and ready to fire. Yuuri didn’t need telling twice, body jerking into action as another two guardsmen sprinted towards him in an attempt to corner him. He knew he was a target – knew they were aware of his status. As valid as being captured could have been – and they crew had discussed the option at length in their briefings – it wasn’t optimal. Too many variables.

So he took the chance, offering one quick glance back to his first mate and Smooth, dodging under the guardsmen’s blades as Splinter and Smooth engaged them instead.

As he found himself in the open, Yuuri took stock of their position. He could see the guardsmen at the door to the hold, now turning their fire towards his crewman, one of them crying out above the din;

“_Ready! … Aim! …”_

Yuuri instinctively leapt at his chance, the scream of “_Fire!” _ringing in his ears as he dashed around the group. Finding purchase on the decking under him, Yuuri dug in his heels, sprinting for the door to the hold, tunnel vision closing in. A sudden burst of heat from Yuuri’s flank had him glancing behind him, watching as the group of guardsmen suddenly reeled from the force of a bomb. Without thinking he glanced up, spotting The Tiger nestled in the rigging high up the mast, the wick of a bomb in his teeth while he lit another and flung it toward the door of the hold.

“Get down!” he screamed at Yuuri, eyes flashing as the bomb arced through the air. Yuuri knew he had precious little time to clear the blast, panic rising in his throat like molten fire. But his eyes quickly spotted a guard with his attention elsewhere, and he wasted none of his momentum as he bowled into him, spinning him with the force of their collision and quickly using him as a human shield. A moment later, he felt the force of the bomb crush the man in front of him, screams of agony and a flash of fire filling his senses.

And as the smoke cleared, Yuuri saw that the door was clear.

Without thinking, he turned, weathered boots grinding against the grain of the wood beneath him. Bursting into a sprint, he careened towards his goal, thighs burning from exertion. The shout of alarm from the guardsmen behind him only served to make him push harder. _Faster._ Because footsteps soon thudded along the deck behind him in hot pursuit. But Captain _Kurokinu_ was quick. Quicker than most. And before the guard could grab him, he had his hands on the door, flinging it shut behind him and hurrying to bolt it.

Because of course it had a bolt.

The smell alone was telling enough.

The swell of the sea and the cries of the skirmish dulled into background noise as he felt the darkness close in around him, creaking wood and muted sobs instantly meeting his ears instead.

_As good as home_ he thought bitterly.

A surge of panic suddenly threatened to take hold of him by the throat, waves of memories and emotions surging along with the familiar sense of being trapped. Of being held…

But before the panic could settle in, Yuuri found his eyes flicking to where he could see a soft orange glow at the base of the stairs.

He wasn't alone.

Adrenaline and instinct kicked themselves into gear, forcing his anxiety to still at the back of his mind. Raising his pistol, Yuuri edged his way down towards the light, careful to keep his back against the wall to keep tabs on both entrances through his peripheral. The glow grew brighter as he descended, and as he watched it move to paint the base of the stairs, he stopped his movements, slinking back a step into the darkness and stilling his breathing.

After an impossibly long moment, Yuuri attempting to quiet his heart rate, the light passed. He let his breath out long and slow, careful not to make a sound.

He assumed, from the lack of talking, that there was only one guard. And the way the light shifted had him calculating the guard’s patrol instinctively. He was walking some kind of perimeter, and as the light almost faded completely, Yuuri took his chance and dashed out into the hold.

He melded into the shadows by the wall, eyes always watching the figure of the guardsman who now had his back to him. As he came to a stop in the corner of the hold, Yuuri allowed himself a moment. He could see everything from this vantage point, nestled in the corner of the room by a large assortment of barrels that he assumed were supplies for the voyage. He glanced around and took in his surroundings quickly. The hold took up most of the base of the ship, a small space at the entrance open and clearly used for storage.

The rest was barred.

Through the haze of darkness and smoke, Yuuri could make out faces – dirty, wide-eyed, searching – the soft light from the torch in the guardsman’s hand illuminating them momentarily. He could see the light flashing off wet eyes, glinting across metal cuffs, shimmering over chains…

And Yuuri's heart clenched with rage as he recognised the wide-eyed stare of a child.

A few of the slaves had seen him already, and Yuuri motioned for them to stay quiet, making his gaze as soft as possible despite the seething fury simmering just under his skin. This wasn’t the first time he’d raided a slavers ship. Wasn’t the first time he’d come face to face with the people he was about to save.

He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it.

Yuuri’s eyes darted toward the guard, who was now on the other side of the barred cage, making his way along the starboard side of the hull routinely. Catlike and practiced, Yuuri began to move, sticking to the shadows as he slowly followed the guard’s pace, careful to avoid the splash of light across the floor. As he came closer, his dagger was in hand with a barely noticeable flash, cutlass already neatly tucked in his belt. But as his dagger caught the light of the torch, one of the children letting out a small whimper, the sound all too loud in the cramped space.

The guard glanced back, Yuuri right on his heels. Terror edged in on his mind, but his training held control. He acted without thinking, letting out a slow breath as he allowed the dagger to plunge deep into the guard’s side. He would have preferred a cleaner kill, but he knew this would at least incapacitate the guard while he searched for the keys.

“Ah!” the guard cried, dropping the torch in his distress as he instantly whirled, gripping at his side where the wound was blooming into red. As he saw Yuuri, however, his expression was ... unsettling. Yuuri had expected to see fear – some kind of dismay – paint his features, but as the guard crumpled to the floor and met his gaze, he all but _smirked_.

Yuuri bared his teeth.

“Good,” the man said, breath heavy as he hissed and pulled his hand away from the wound, glistening bright red in the low torchlight. “I was hoping it would be you.”

Yuuri furrowed his brow, flashing his dagger again and aiming it at the guard’s neck, giving him no chance to escape.

“Keys,” he growled, eyes pitch black.

The guard simply laughed – a gravelly, breathy thing as he clutched at his side. Yuuri felt his fury boil over, his boot suddenly coming down hard on the guard’s stomach, heel digging into the wound. He tried not to revel too much in his satisfaction as the guard cried out, eyes blowing wide.

_There’s the fear_, Yuuri thought bitterly.

“Free them – Ah! – if you wish,” the guard managed through clenched teeth, glaring daggers as Yuuri ground his boot into the guard’s side, dark red spreading across his coat like a creeping tide. “It’s still useless.”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes but kept silent. A chilling dread was working its way up his spine and turning his gut to water, but he wouldn’t let it show. He _couldn’t_…

It was then that Yuuri noticed the guard’s eyes flicking just past Yuuri’s head, searching deep into the corner of the hold where it was darkest. He’d thought it was just storage, full of black shapes that looked like barrels and boxes…

Yuuri realised he hadn’t checked what they were, and the dread in his gut suddenly twisted into ice as he spun around, reaching down to scoop up the torch in one swift movement, holding it high to banish the shadows from the hold.

“No…” he breathed, eyes glistening in the low light.

The guard was cackling now, shifting where he sat under Yuuri’s heel. As raw panic threatened to grip his throat in a vice, Yuuri turned to look at the slaves desperately, light flashing across their fearful faces.  
“No, no, no—”

“It’s over, _Captain Kurokinu_,” the guard spat, and as Yuuri turned back to face him he felt the ground pitch beneath him. The guard was holding a gun, but rather than aim it between Yuuri’s eyes, he had it trained on that self-same corner of the ship.

The corner fit to bursting with gunpowder.

“You’d destroy your own _cargo_?” Yuuri managed, forcing his voice to stay even. To stay dripping with venom and vicious. “Your precious _haul_?”

The guard spluttered another laugh, gasping for air as the patch of red spread further across his stomach. “You really think this is all we have? You’ve underestimated Lord Astor’s reach—” but before he could continue, a slew of ugly coughs wracked his frame, his heavy shoulders shuddering with each heave, blood splattering the wood of the floor.

“There’s more,” and Yuuri said it like a statement, low and heavy with dark realisation. His voice was coming at him from far away, like it belonged to someone else, a thick rush filling his ears so he could hardly hear himself think. How could they have _missed _this? _How could they have missed this_?

“If you really care about your filthy _crew_, you’ll leave. Now,” and the guard, despite his pain, was still training the pistol on the barrels, finger steadily pressing on the trigger, deftly cocking it with one well-trained thumb. Yuuri felt rage and fear and _desperation_ claw its way out of his throat, a muffled sob threatening to burst past his lips.

Because the slaves were _right there_. He was seconds away from freeing them and he had to _choose not to_.

“Lord Astor’s already left,” the guard managed to spit, a vicious grin permanently painted on his features. “And I’m dead in a few hours. There’s nothing I’d love more than to blow these _fuckers _to hell,” and Yuuri felt a cry of rage rip from his lips, eyes flashing in the low light as he raised his dagger.

But the guard was quick. He reached to grip the pistol in two hands with steady arms and calm fingers. Yuuri felt his world grind to a halt. Judging by the creases and scars across the guard’s face, he was a veteran. No matter what Yuuri tried, he knew he wouldn’t be deterred from his goal.

“_Leave_,” the guard hissed, eyes piercing.

Before Yuuri could find an answer – before he could force his mind to salvage their mission - the boat suddenly rocked violently beneath him, a dull roar that was all too familiar greeting his ears. His crew were still fighting. Fighting _uselessly_. And the storm was rising.

He had no choice.

“Save a space for Astor in _hell_,” Yuuri hissed, throwing one last mournful glance at the slaves now huddled in the corner of their cell. No matter how many times he found himself here – staring down the people he knew all too well, despite how their faces changed – he’d never be able to shake the flood of memories. The black pit of _vengeance_ that seemed to be the only thing keeping him afloat.

He had to save his crew. _Had _to. The only consolation he found was knowing they’d live to fight again – live to find another _chance to free them all…_

Bitter tears smarted in his eyes as he spun on his heels, the sound of the guard’s laughter like poison in his ears.

* * *

Smooth was nowhere to be found.

As Yuuri sprinted out into the salty air the boat pitched precariously, waves tumbling against its hull, thunder splitting the ear with a loud roiling _boom_.

It seemed all too fitting, somehow.

Methodically, he scanned the decking for his crew, making signals to retreat when he spotted a few locked in combat with spare guards.

The deck was all too empty, now.

Working his way through the skirmish, he found that the swing of his cutlass and the shock of his pistol along the muscles of his arm kept his mind from unravelling. Kept him focussed. Kept his blood running hot in his ears, drowning out that vicious laughter he was sure would haunt him for many nights to come.

And he could see all of his crew – The Tiger and JJ and G. Monk, bodily swinging himself over the side of the ship towards _Susano’o_ with nothing but a stoic glare in response to Yuuri’s order to retreat.

But Smooth was still nowhere to be found.

Yuuri glanced around, desperation beginning to siege his mind, and laid eyes on Splinter high up the rigging. As he threw the signal, Splinter furrowed his brow, but glancing at their situation, he knew something wasn’t right. Yuuri knew Splinter was too well trained to miss the fact that the battle had suddenly become all too easy.

As he made his way down the rigging, rushing across the decking to meet him, he had to duck out of the way of another bomb, ignoring the blast that shook him as it connected with the decking nearby.

Splinter met his gaze, and his expression fell.

“Retreat? Really?” and his voice was despondent. Annoyed. Yuuri knew he might put up a fight, but ultimately Yuuri’s word was law as captain. He only needed to tell him once.

“Phichit,” and he spoke his name carefully. Pointedly. Eyes locked with his old friend’s by way of a silent conversation. At the sound of his real name, Phichit visibly shrank, eyes growing wide.

“Alright,” he said after a moment’s pause. “Fuck. I’ll make sure everyone’s accounted for,” and he ducked away without another word.

Yuuri turned in time to see another guardsman – young and baby-faced – racing at him with a fierce determination. Yuuri had seen such expressions before. A lust to kill the _famed Captain Kurokinu_. The Black Silk of the Sea. He locked blades with the guard, and in any other situation he would have been bored. But the rage and hatred made him see red, and he ended him as quickly and brutally as he could. He needed blood. He needed death. He needed…

But he had a crew to protect.

Fighting endlessly, Yuuri kept an eye on his retreating crewman, watching as they spread the word and yelled above the crash of the waves and the hiss of rain. He counted slowly – _5 … 6 … 7 – _checking each name off in his mind. If he truly had to make this decision, he wanted it to be thorough.

Smooth was the only one missing.

And, true to the old veteran’s words in the hold, Astor was nowhere to be seen. Yuuri noticed that a considerable amount of guards were missing now – his retainer must have disappeared along with him.

Cutting across the din, Yuuri heard Phichit call after him. He glanced to the railing and saw him standing with a rope in hand.

“Let’s go!” he cried, cupping a hand to his mouth and spitting the words across the roar of the storm.

“Smooth!” Yuuri screamed back, crashing his cutlass into another guardsman’s sword, gritting his teeth as the shock jolted his jaw, setting his feet like he’d done countless times. He could hear Phichit crying out again as he shoved at the guard with all his body-weight, gliding his weapon up along the other man’s sword, using the momentum of his force to knock him off balance. With one foot placed expertly, he managed to spin out of harm’s way, turning to sink his cutlass deep into the man’s back without a second thought.

“He’s back! We’re clear!” and at Phichit’s words Yuuri felt a small sense of relief. He was back. They had a chance to retreat.

At least his losses were minimal.

_No, not minimal at all_, he thought bitterly, feeling tears sting behind his eyes once again. His mind was throwing up images of those faces, painted with a sickly orange glow, eyes glistening…

He swallowed thickly as the lump in his throat grew painful.

_Not the time_.

He’d have plenty of time to come undone once they were safe at port. Or far from this storm. Alone in his quarters. After staying strong for his crew – his crew who’s lives he’d paid a high price for.

_We’ll come back. We’ll come back_. He thought desperately as he made his way to the railing. He could see _Susano’o _close by, a bit of damage from the storm and collisions marring its surface, but stable nonetheless. Safe.

He gripped the rope that hung from _The Legacy’s_ mast, locking his hands in it as he prepared to leap overboard. _Susano’o _was close enough that he could make the deck, and with one last look back toward the hold, eyes molten black, Yuuri leapt off the railing.

His landing was rough, but to Yuuri it felt like an embrace. The same old wooden decking greeted him with open arms, and as he tumbled into a roll, landing on his feet with his arms bracing his impact, another wave of relief washed over him.

He was home, once again.

The ship was keening now, rolling with the waves and pitching as he spotted Babs at the helm, steering them to safety. His eyes automatically scanned the deck, taking in the faces of his crew – drenched in sweat and rain, smeared with blood and filth and battle - and Yuuri found the relief was enough to keep his fury at bay.

“What the fuck?” he heard a voice cut across the storm, bitter and high with emotion. Yuuri stood slowly, checking himself for injuries, coming away clean. He prepared himself for the onslaught, squaring his jaw as he came face to face with The Tiger.

“Want to explain yourself, _Captain_?” the boy spat bitterly, folding his arms and glaring daggers. To anyone that didn’t know The Tiger, they would have thought he was picking a fight – which, technically, he was. But Yuuri knew him well enough by now. Knew he didn’t have to rise to his bait.

“It was us, or them,” he said simply, offering a small exhausted gesture to the crew waiting around, signalling that they could retire. Mum was waiting near the entrance to their hold, calculating everyone’s wounds. She spotted JJ – limping and unsteady with what looked like a stab wound to the thigh – and rolled her eyes as he limped his way over to her with a huge grin and a shrug.

Yuuri watched his crew make their way to their stations, steadily forcing his heart rate to slow with each breath as he realised everyone was accounted for. A few of their hired hands had perished in the skirmish, and he felt their loss keenly – especially under the circumstances. But his _crew _were unharmed. The ones he’d handpicked and trained himself. The ones he’d rescued. The ones who had rescued _him. _

With a slow exhale, he turned toward his quarters, ignoring The Tiger’s bitter glare. He needed quiet. He needed to plan their next move.

The Tiger was hot on his heels.

“What do you mean?” he cried after him. “Are we going back in?” and Yuuri glanced back with eyes heavy lidded. He watched levelly as the boy fiddled with his blonde hair, tugging it back into its messy ponytail. Yuuri noted that his face was smudged with gunpowder and his fingers were burnt at the tips.

“After we’ve recovered,” Yuuri said simply, giving the boy a pointed once-over, pausing at his door. He could feel The Tiger’s presence still behind him, and as he spun around to face him fully, he levelled a loaded stare at him in a way that brooked no reproach.

The Tiger watched him for a moment, still pulling his hair into place. Slowly the furrow of his brow softened – an expression Yuuri had seen _many _times – as he began to understand.

This wasn’t a conversation to be had now.

And – with perfect timing, as always – Splinter soon walked into view, coming to stand at Yuuri’s side and loop an arm over his shoulder.

“You’ve got work to do, _Yurio_,” he said with a smirk, watching The Tiger bristle at his command. Yuuri sighed – Yurio hated his real name being used. Especially the nickname the crew had come up with when they first discovered him as a stowaway after leaving port at Istanbul. It was enough to shock him into his old self – angry and rebellious.

“Fuck you,” he spat, but turned on his heels all the same, making his way toward the hold, muttering as he went.

Yuuri and his first mate watched the boy leave, Phichit’s smirk never falling from his features. But as they watched the crew prepare to get _Susano’o _ready to make its escape, Phichit dropped his arm from Yuuri’s shoulder, gripping the top of his arm instead and turning to give him an even stare.

“You _will _explain eventually, though. Right?” he said slowly, lips still set in a smirk, but eyes as serious as ever.

“Of course,” Yuuri said with a sigh. As the adrenaline began to wear off, Yuuri found himself bone-weary and ready for sleep. Or a bottle. All of the above.

“Just—” and Phichit suddenly looked nervous, dragging his lower lip and chewing it as he glanced across the ocean to where _The Legacy_ was making its own escape. “Try not to think about it too much, for now,” and his voice was soft, eyes coming back to meet Yuuri’s own, offering him a gentle smile.

Yuuri felt that self-same lump in his throat flare up into a tight constricting vice, eyes all but brimming with bitter tears.

“We came away with nothing, Phichit,” he said distantly, trying to keep his voice even. “I can’t _not _think about that.”

But Phichit’s eyes stayed soft, if not a little playful as that characteristic smirk curled his lips up.

“Not _nothing_,” he said with a wink, and gave Yuuri a friendly pat on the shoulder. Yuuri furrowed his brow, about to question him, but Phichit was already making his way down to the deck. He could see Smooth, pipe already in hand, clapping Monk on the back with the usual grin. Phichit was making his way towards him, and when they met at the door to the hold, they shared a whisper, the pair glancing back to Yuuri with similar expressions of amusement.

The sight made Yuuri all the more furious.

_Not nothing?_ He wondered, worried he’d given the pair too long a leash. If they felt they could prank him at a time like _this_, they had another thing coming.

But the weariness and pent up emotions were surfacing again, and before his mask could crack in front of his crew, Yuuri turned to make his way into his quarters instead. Even if he stayed there until they were safe, and explained in a debrief later, he knew that was preferable to the potential break down he would have in front of his men if he spoke with them now.

He pushed on the familiar wood of his door, smoothing his palm over the rough surface with a sense of _coming home_. He was equally tempted to kick it open, but found his rage was all too bitter by that point. A quiet rage, like the calm after a storm. Tingling with electricity, but _still_.

Waiting.

His thoughts consumed him, eyes downcast, closing the door softly behind him and making his way automatically to his desk in the corner. He opened the top drawer without thinking – the drawer crammed with bottles of expensive wine and rum, a half empty bottle rolling to the front. He grabbed it quickly, uncorking it and lifting it to his lips in one swift movement.

It wasn’t until he turned, bottle upended as he drank down the sour liquid, light-headedness already encroaching on his mind, that he saw him.

Yuuri’s bed was large – a four poster monstrosity he’d managed to steal from a wealthy merchant after seducing him. It took up a large amount of space at the back of his quarters, obnoxious sheets crimson and inlaid with golden filigree. Another _gift_ from another of his conquests.

But the bed was the furthest thing from his mind. Because the first thing Yuuri saw, the bottle of wine slipping from his grip momentarily, was what lay on its covers.

His eyes travelled across tightly bound ropes. Across expensive silk and brocade. Across squirming limbs straining at bonds.

There, perched on his bed – silver wig dishevelled and coming loose, a tight gag stuffed in a small, soft mouth, eyes bright blue and watery in the dim candlelight of Yuuri’s room - was a man.

The most beautiful man Yuuri had _ever seen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEE I WAS GONNA make this chapter far longer and fill it with smut but, wow, would you look at the time *checks non-existent watch*
> 
> Who fuckin knows when I'll update this disaster, it's mainly for fun in between [ Symphony ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19301698) updates <3
> 
> Crafted with the ever-lovely and loving [ Riparia's ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riparia/profile) help~
> 
> SMUT NEXT CHAPTER OKAY?
> 
> Much sea-faring love,
> 
> \- Min


	2. Escape

Lord Viktor Astor, pride of his family, the little lord, and sole heir to his family’s estate, was _furious_.

He’d agreed to accompany his father on the condition that they visit a new port. He hated these voyages. Hated everything from the way his father spoke to his men, to the way Viktor felt like some kind of child, tucked away in his quarters, guards at the door, servants waiting on him hand and foot.

As if there were any danger, this far out at sea.

And it wasn’t like he couldn’t defend himself. Try as he might to convince his father he had more skill with a blade than half of his men put together, Lord Astor wouldn’t budge. Viktor scoffed as he poured himself another drink – they should put that on his tombstone.

_Lord Astor Wouldn’t Budge._

Viktor mused, distantly, that even his father’s _death_ would be difficult, all things considered. He found himself imagining the old man, bedridden and covered in sweat, hacking up a lung and refusing to die. It was a bitter image and elicited a bitter laugh.

Viktor felt, in the fiery pit of his rage, that his father’s death couldn’t come soon enough.

In the safety of their estate in London, Lord Astor had promised, with a distant smile, that yes, Viktor, we will visit a port. Yes, Viktor, we will find something to amuse you. Yes, Viktor, your wish is my command.

But when they’d sailed into Port Royal, Viktor knew Lord Astor’s promises were as empty as they were condescending.

As they had left with Lord Astor’s cargo, Viktor had slipped into a sullen silence, his father attempting to coax him out with more empty promises. More treats. More surprises. Things he knew Viktor liked.

Viktor would rather have leapt overboard than accept anything from his father.

And he’d said as much, eyes fervent with rebellious rage and heart fit to bursting. Because his father hadn’t _told him_. Hadn’t revealed they were on a voyage to purchase _slaves_.

No matter how hard he might _try_ to see reason, Viktor couldn’t quite stomach the thought. Yes, he had servants of his own. Yes, he knew his home, his possessions, his wealth, was thanks to his father’s trade. But the knowledge alone couldn’t dispel that sinking feeling in the pit of his chest every time he witnessed his father’s little business first hand.

If _little_ were the right word.

Lord Elias Astor was as much of a terror on the high seas as any pirate. His name carried the weight of _importance_ everywhere he went. His wealth was unrivalled, his reach spider-web spinning across half the globe.

And Viktor _hated_ it.

Because every inch of Viktor’s life was paid for in blood.

And as his father had tried to reason with him – tried to explain just how important this business was – Viktor had fought back. He didn’t care how crucial their standing in society was. How pertinent slavery was to the British Empire. How everything Viktor held dear would come crashing down around him if they abandoned their trade.

That day, leagues out to sea aboard _The Legacy, _furious and confused and at his wits end, Viktor had made damn sure his father knew just how much he hated it.

* * *

“See reason, Viktor,” his father growled, standing at his desk, salt and pepper hair drifting over his eyes as he snapped. “You’ll inherit this business soon enough. I can’t have my own son debating the _morality_ of it now.”

“Now is the _perfect_ time to debate morality, _father_,” he spat, pumping all the venom he could into the words, slamming a palm down on his father’s desk. If he were younger, he might have been fearful of the consequences of such an outburst. His father had always hated his ‘unbridled passion.’ Had made sure Viktor knew his contempt for irrationality.

But now, on the verge of his twenty-seventh year, Viktor had outgrown his father’s punishments, unbridled passion still intact. If anything, the years of stifling control had only fuelled its fires.

His father sighed, head drooping as if an unbearable weight had just settled on his shoulders. “Compose yourself, Viktor. I will not suffer another of your little tantrums.”

Viktor flung his hands in the air, frustration boiling over. “Or what?” he laughed bitterly, “You’ll throw me overboard? Lock up your precious heir with the rest of your _cargo_?”

“Viktor…” and Lord Astor’s voice was dark. Laced with warning.

“Do it!” Viktor cried, eyes flashing in the low light streaming in from the cabin’s window. “It can’t be worse than _this_,” and Viktor instinctively reached for the maps and charts littered across his father’s desk, scattering them in the air, trying to get his attention.

He knew he was being childish. Could see it in the way his father looked at him almost pityingly. But he found, as the fury simmered just below the surface of his skin, that he couldn’t care less.

His father levelled a glare at him, eyes narrowing as he suddenly straightened. Despite his years, Lord Astor could be tall when he wanted to. Imposing. Standing in the small confines of the cabin, Viktor was reminded of just how _tall_ he was.

As he rolled his shoulders back, standing regal and important in front of him, Viktor felt himself shrink ever so slightly.

“Your mother would be ashamed, Vitya,” and his father’s words were soft. There was no passion in them – nothing like Viktor’s little outburst. They were cold. Controlled.

And Lord Astor knew what those words would do to him.

Viktor felt himself recoil as if he’d been burnt, eyes growing wide as he took a small step back.

“D—Don’t call me that,” he hissed, hands curling into fists by his side.

“She raised you better than this, or have you forgotten already?” his father continued, still standing tall, one hand on his desk, fingers steepled in a perfect pose. He looked like a painting come to life. Like the perfect image of British power.

And his words were venom, shot straight into Viktor’s heart.

“Don’t—” but Viktor’s words were quickly cut off, his throat constricting around his words like ropes. He should have known this would have been the result. Should have had enough foresight to know his father would stoop this low to have his way.

But before they could continue, a high-pitched whistle cut across the air like a knife, Lord Astor turning towards the door expectantly. Moments later, one of the cabin boys burst into the room, face beet red from exertion. Viktor thought, absently, that he must have come from the crow’s nest, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to find words.

“Spit it out, boy,” his father said sternly, Viktor feeling his heart clench as the boy visibly flinched.

“P—Pirates,” he managed to say around heaving breaths. “Pirates … off the port … bow—”

But Lord Astor was already moving, eyes hard as flint. Viktor felt his blood run cold in his veins.

_Pirates._

As furious as he was, Viktor found the chilling dread brought another all-together unsettling emotion along with it. A strange emotion. Something that tugged at his chest and made him want to race out onto the decking as quickly as possible …

_Excitement._

But as he began to move, following his father’s imposing frame out of the cabin, Lord Astor suddenly whirled to face him.

“Stay here,” he growled.

Viktor coughed another laugh. “What, you’re not even going to let me see—”

“This isn’t a game, Vitya. This conversation is over,” and as he spoke, he gestured at two of his men stationed just outside the cabin’s doors.

“Guard this room with your life if you want your families to eat this month,” and his voice was pure iron, the guards standing to attention and saluting without hesitation. Viktor felt bile rise in his throat.

Blind rage seethed at the edges of Viktor’s mind, and as he watched his father leave, he took a step forward, the guards moving to block his way with one, calculated step.

“Fuck you!” he yelled with all the vehemence he could muster, but of course, it had no effect. The words hardly carried across the sudden roar of a rising storm. His father simply strode out onto the decking, unflinching. The wind had picked up into a gale and whipped at his coat tails, pristine hair flicking about his head like some kind of halo. And as if he controlled the very squall itself, the winds began to broil around him.

The image made Viktor feel … unsettled.

Yet, as he gazed after his father, his eyes were suddenly drawn to another image, off to port and a little obscured by the oncoming rain.

Through the haze, he could just make out a pair of tall masts, jet black against the greying skyline. As he squinted, he found he could see sails, and the strange design of a foreign vessel, colours raised upon the highest mast.

A ghostly pale skull grinning on jet black waters.

Without warning, the fear and excitement mingled into a crushing crescendo, a sudden urge to reach for his sword almost taking control.

But the guards at the door all but glared at him, as if they knew exactly what he was thinking. Viktor took a long, slow breath, the molten anticipation as strong in his chest as the sizzling promise of lightning that now coated the air around them. He knew the guards were part of his father’s retainer - knew them well enough to remember their names.

And he knew their _families_, as well.

“Tell me … if the battle turns,” he said quietly, turning to look at one of the guards, eyeing him seriously. The guard considered him for a moment, eyes shadowed by his uniform hat. But he soon nodded, eyes grave. Knowing

And Viktor closed the door on them with a resounding slam.

* * *

The battle seemed to drag on into eternity, made all the more maddening by the endless roll of the ship beneath Viktor’s feet. He’d decided the best he could do was raid his father’s collection of fine, expensive port. The kind he never let Viktor touch, no matter how ‘mature’ he was meant to be.

As he upended a bottle, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hand, Viktor strained to listen to the sounds of battle outside.

He wondered, not for the first time, if the guards stationed outside the cabin were engaged in combat by now. If so, he thought, he might have a chance at escaping.

_Escaping?_

He supposed that was the best word for it, because he wasn’t just looking to enter into the fray. He wanted _more_ than that. The fear and excitement still hadn’t quieted. Still hadn’t given his mind a chance to see reason. A dark _idea_ had soon entered his thoughts – stealthing in like a thief - that left him a little speechless.

He could, theoretically, simply _sneak_ onto the pirate vessel. Perhaps raid the servant’s trunk and find some simple clothes to hide his status. His knowledge on pirate crews was minimal, but he was sure, in the middle of a skirmish, they’d hardly notice him. And by the time they did, _The Legacy_ – and his father, and his abhorrent _business – _would be leagues away.

But the more he thought it over, the more ridiculous the plan became. Was it what he really _wanted? _How could he make sure he didn’t get caught the second he walked out the door?

_Still tempting, _he mused. _But ridiculous, all the same._

As he felt the liquor burn its way through his veins, Viktor’s mind instead turned to his father’s words.

He found himself wondering, as he swilled the bottle in his hand, if his mother truly would be disappointed. Disappointed in his outbursts – his ‘little tantrums’ as his father so eloquently put it. Disappointed in how disrespectful he was towards the man who had worked hard to keep him in pretty clothes. To keep his skin soft and his mind sharpened. To educate him under the finest tutors, find him the noblest of ladies to entertain thoughts of marriage and children with…

But the longer he pondered his mother – her wild eyes and silver hair, her strong arms and an accent that felt like home – the more determined he became.

He was sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she would be proud of him.

And perhaps, if she were here with him, she wouldn’t hesitate to follow through with his plan, ridiculous or no.

Try as his father might to maintain that she had passed away at sea, Viktor still couldn’t make peace with the notion. He knew she’d disappeared – Viktor only a child when he had seen her for the last time – but as the years had crawled on, his heart only held onto her that much tighter.

Perhaps it was the port, sinking into his brain, causing trouble, but he couldn’t help but reminisce, alone in the cabin with the desperate cries of battle echoing just outside his door.

At their estate, his mother had insisted on gardens. Miles of them. And she’d refused a gardener – as passionate about the concept of slavery as Viktor had grown to be. She’d insisted she would tend to the gardens herself, and tend to them she had.

They were the most beautiful gardens Viktor had ever seen.

The lawn was kept to his father’s liking, but snaking off every which way were endless forests of wildflowers. Trees. Beautiful overgrown shrubs and beds of moss. Little pools and streams home to countless ‘families,’ as she’d called them. She would often spend her time watching little sparrows, or following the faint trails of fish as they swam.

It was here, surrounded by the wild and the chaos of it all, that Viktor held her memory.

He could still remember the smells – the tang of herbs and sharp freshness of pine. The surge of something floral as he’d come into the little grove she so often frequented. It was a clearing amidst the trees, a soft overgrown patch of grass sprinkled with wildflowers. She was sitting in the midst of it all, her long silver hair – so often braided and pinned back as was _appropriate_ for the wife of a Lord – spilling haphazardly about her shoulders.

And she was singing.

Try as Viktor might to remember the song, he could only ever chase the memory for so long before the melody was gone.

But he could remember her eyes - bright and fervent and _sad_ – as she had turned to face him. As she’d opened her arms. As Viktor had laughed and held her…

_Рыбка…_

A loud crash against Viktor’s door had him reeling out of his reverie. Bottle still in hand – though significantly more drained – he stood quickly. Another crash nearly toppled him, his hand flying out to the post of the bed to steady himself. Pacing the floor towards where his sword was kept, Viktor felt the rush of adrenaline threaten to chase the alcohol from his system. And he could hear shouts – familiar shouts.

The guardsmen at his door were finally engaged.

His fingers brushed the cool steel of the hilt of his weapon – a weighty, cumbersome thing his father had had made for him. He preferred something with a little more finesse – something not unlike the thin rapier his mother had once had, locked away in a case somewhere far across the seas at home.

And as he lifted the blade, drunkenly curling his lip in disgust as the weight dragged on his arm, he wondered if he’d really need it.

As inebriated as he was, he found he could process what was happening quite clearly. Judging from the harsh shouts and the ring of steel clashing just outside the door, the guards were already locked in furious combat. Meaning they’d managed to board and work their way to the hold.

He wondered, distantly, if pirates freed slaves.

The sword was still resting in its stand, his hand only just holding it aloft, not yet drawn for combat. He knew it wouldn’t take much for him to open the door and enter the fray – he’d probably be able to turn the tide quite quickly, if he focussed his skill. It was one thing he and his father agreed on – Lord Astor had insisted Viktor be thoroughly trained in the art of swordplay. And trained he was – trained enough to win every tavern brawl and underground duel he’d happened to come across. He preferred those to the stiff, playfighting his father had dubbed ‘appropriate for the heir of a Lord.’

He knew he could as fight as dirty as any man, if need be.

But did he _want to?_

The sword suddenly felt all too heavy in his grasp, and the alcohol-misted memories of his mother suddenly surged back to him as he pondered…

_Рыбка…_

Narrowing his eyes, Viktor let the blade fall back onto its stand, hands moving on their own to close the case over it gently.

As he rested his hand over its smooth wooden surface, he heard a resounding thud reverberating back through the door to his quarters. It sounded ominously like a body falling limp, and the garbled choke of someone’s voice met his ears;

“Lizzie…”

Viktor felt his heart churn in his chest. So, Reynolds had fallen. He found himself chewing on his lower lip anxiously – Lizzie was the name of his baby daughter…

But before the thought could manifest, the crunching sound of a boot connecting with wood had him whirling. The door flung open, a heavy splintered dent in its centre.

And a figure was making its way into his quarters – tall, lean, and covered in blood.

Viktor tried to keep his expression neutral, though his eyes blew wide with surprise despite his best efforts. Because the man looked nothing like he was expecting. Rough around the edges, of course. Dressed in a ridiculous coat that looked older than he was.

But Viktor couldn’t help the small intake of breath, because the man was _beautiful_.

The first thing he noticed was the man’s bright eyes and shock of light-brown curly hair – the unshaven face was a nice little surprise as well, and Viktor found he rather liked the look of him, all things considered.

The man clearly noticed him staring, and offered a lopsided smirk by way of response.

“Look what we have here,” he said in a long, slow drawl, accent heavy on his words. Viktor swallowed, keeping his hands behind his back to hide their shaking as he squared his jaw.

“Come to kill me?” he asked, voice edging on playful.

The man let out a gruff laugh, checking the door and closing it behind him, Viktor’s heart thudding in his ears as he watched carefully.

Rather than answer, however, the man simply began appraising the room. He seemed to be interested in his father’s desk, meandering over towards it, pistol in hand, using it to flick through some of the papers nonchalantly.

“Something tells me that would be a waste,” and his voice was all honey and silk. Matching Viktor’s tone perfectly. He glanced up through thick lashes and offered a telling wink, lips curling into a smile as Viktor swallowed again.

This was _far_ from what he’d expected for a _pirate_.

“C—Capture me, then?” he tried, steadying himself on the wood behind him. He could feel adrenaline coursing through every fibre of his being, setting his heart racing in his ribcage like a trapped bird.

But he knew that if he let this man gain the upper hand, his chance would vanish.

And as the man began to wander closer, casually glancing around at the various chests and closets with an appraising eye, Viktor realised it truly _was_ a chance.

A chance to _escape._

“Perhaps,” the man said slowly - heavy, worn boots treading decidedly along the wood of the floor. Every step resounded loudly in Viktor’s ears, like some kind of steady call to an impending inevitability. The tick of a clock crawling closer to midnight. And with every step, Viktor’s heart wrung itself ragged, leaping into his throat when the man’s bright green eyes met his own. Flirtatious. Toying.

“You’re important,” he drawled, making the statement with nothing but a sidelong glance, gesturing with his pistol around the room. Viktor figured he must have been referring to the decorations – the gilded chests and framed paintings.

Viktor tried to stand taller, his grip so tight on the wood of the desk behind him that it turned his knuckles white. But he managed to keep his mask – the mask he was so practiced at after years of balls and engagements. Perfected in the smoky back rooms of taverns where he’d gambled half his fortune on cards and dice.

And he _always_ won.

“Important enough,” and he tried to make his voice as even as possible, hooding his eyes as he offered the man a coy smile. “There will be a ransom. A decidedly _large _ransom.”

The man laughed at that, his steps bringing him closer until he pushed his way into Viktor’s space. He was tall, but Viktor found he could look him in the eyes levelly.

A small voice stirred at the back of his mind – he could still salvage this, if he wished. The sword was easily within reach, and he knew a solid kick to the man’s abdomen would give him enough of a window to grab it. The duel would turn ugly, no doubt. It wasn’t like Viktor had ever crossed swords with a genuine _pirate _before. But Viktor was nothing if not confident. He was sure he could handle him, pirate or no.

_But did he want to_?

He hardly had the chance to reason out the answer, because the man was suddenly flicking his free hand, reaching down far too quickly towards his belt and drawing a short blade. He spun it in his hand, eyes never leaving Viktor’s own as his smile grew almost vicious.

“We’ve been meaning to replace the sails,” the man said, still casually spinning the blade, gliding it across his fingers and turning it to point directly at Viktor’s throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, eyes darting down momentarily to where he could see the knife, still distant, but aimed with purpose.

The man motioned it with another easy movement, arching his brow as he watched Viktor closely.

“Are you coming willingly?” and the way he said it was all too sugary. Far too close to a proposition for Viktor to think clearly.

“It’s … better than the alternative,” he managed to breathe, steadying himself against the desk as the man took another calculated step closer, eyes teasing, vicious smile turning soft.

“Good,” he said simply, dipping his head _just _so, before straightening and taking a slow step back. “I have to say, that was easier than I thought it would be.”

Viktor scoffed, allowing himself a moment to catch himself. His ears were full of the rushing sound of blood as he realised he’d been holding his breath. He relaxed his grip, sword all but forgotten.

He’d made his decision.

“Are you calling me easy?” he said with a bitter laugh, the other man’s brow shooting upwards as his smile grew wide.

“Hardly, _mon cher_,” he said with another wink, flipping the dagger to gesture towards the door, though he’d made sure the hilt was facing outwards as opposed to the blade. A kind of conditional peace offering. “You first.”

It took Viktor a moment to take stock of what was happening. He knew he had no choice now – the decision was made. And it wasn’t that he was regretting it. On the contrary – he couldn’t quite believe it was _real_.

The man watched on with an amused expression as Viktor busied himself adjusting his coat – tucking the sleeves and reaching up to straighten his collar.

“Any day now,” the man said with a sigh.

Viktor rolled his eyes – captive or no, he wasn’t about to leave without looking somewhat presentable. Especially if the crew looked anything like the man in front of him.

Allowing himself a deep breath, Viktor reached for the handle to the door. A distant memory flashed across his mind – the familiar scent of pine and herbs and wildflowers. Silver hair. A sad, tender smile.

He wondered, not for the first time, if his mother truly would be proud.

Without thinking, he turned the handle, thrusting the door open and receiving a face full of sea spray. The storm truly had risen, wild rain pelting down on the decking and crew alike. He could see the familiar faces of his father’s men, locked in furious combat with the most eclectic group of people he’d ever seen.

The first man he saw was a slim, pale figure, perched high on the mast of their ship, holding on with only his legs as he lobbed bombs with both hands down below him. One went off nearby, causing Viktor to shield his eyes and take a step backwards. But the man was there, Viktor connecting with his chest solidly, causing him to raise an arm to grip tightly at his shoulder by way of warning.

But before he could complain, a voice rang out across the din;

“_M’lord!_”

Viktor whipped his head toward the sound, recognising the voice instantly. One of the member’s of his father’s retainer. Daniel, he recalled. He was a younger man, but by no means unskilled, fighting off one of the pirates – a rather vicious looking woman who seemed no older than twenty. Her hair was loose, dark brown and curling in the wind, dark eyes flashing, a dagger in her teeth.

“Daniel!” Viktor cried, brow creasing with worry. He’d always liked this one – slightly less affected by his father’s twisted morality. The man behind him tensed, his grip on Viktor’s shoulder edging on painful as Daniel managed to disengage, racing towards them through the rain.

As he registered the pirate’s hold on Viktor’s arm, he paused, eyes blowing wide, sword rising warily.

Before Viktor could speak, the man behind him suddenly whirled, tossing Viktor back against the wall to the cabin as he moved to grab the guard by the scruff of his neck. Daniel attempted to dodge, but the pirate was quicker, using his momentum to pitch him off balance and slam him back into the wood of the wall. Viktor gasped, a deep sense of dread clawing its way up his throat. He couldn’t let Daniel die. He was weapon less and _captured _but he couldn’t let Daniel _die_…

“Wait!” he spluttered, reaching a hand instinctively up to the pirate’s shoulder, trying to yank his grip on Daniel’s collar loose. The man glanced his way, narrowing his eyes incredulously, but before he could question, Daniel managed to gasp a few words.

“Lord Astor… he’s—” and the pirate crushed him further into the wall, leaning in close and biting his words off venomously.

“Do tell,” he hissed, dagger flicking back into view as he pressed the flat of the blade against Daniel’s neck.

His eyes were fearful, searching Viktor’s face desperately by way of confirmation. He was quick witted, at least, and Viktor nodded slowly at him.

“L—Lord Astor…” he gasped, struggling in the pirate’s grip. “He sent me—Ah!” and the pirate was pressing the blade harder, hard enough to draw blood. Viktor found himself unable to look away as it beaded on the edge of the blade, dark red and glistening.

“_Where?_” the pirate asked, voice an ominous growl.

“G—Gone!” Daniel managed, eyes screwing shut as he grit his teeth. “He sent me to get M’lord—”

But his words were cut off by a loud _crash_, Viktor all but toppling into them as the boat jolted beneath him. Glancing off to starboard, Viktor could see the pirate ship – imposing as it began to loom ever closer to their ship. It had crashed into them in the storm, the collision not strong enough to cause any damage, but jarring enough that a few of the crew had fallen. Viktor spun back to Daniel, eyes desperate and questioning.

“Father’s leaving?” he asked incredulously. “Why?”

Daniel choked out another breath, struggling against the pirate’s grip. But from the way the man’s shoulders bunched and the veins stood out on his forearm, Viktor knew Daniel was no match for his strength.

“Escaping … the blast. Told me… to get … you,” and his words were strained, the knife digging in deeper with every breath.

“The blast?” Viktor breathed, brow furrowing as he tightened his grip on the man’s arm. “Daniel, what _blast_?”  
“The … hold…”

But before he could explain any further, another bomb caused them all to duck, fire flashing and the force knocking the pirate loose. Viktor took his chance, leaping to grip the man’s forearm, yanking it loose as Daniel scrambled free.

“Run!” he cried, feeling a fist connect with his gut bodily. He doubled over with a gasp, breath leaving him in a rush. He had little time to regain it as the man snaked an arm about his waist, hoisting him high onto his shoulder. Viktor felt the urge to kick him, but noticed from his new vantage point that Daniel had escaped. He didn’t need to struggle, now.

“I knew you were important,” the pirate said with a bitter laugh. “But not _Lord Astor’s own son_ important.”  
Viktor groaned, struggling in the man’s grip. “We can exchange family stories _later_,” he hissed, trying to catch his breath as the man began making his way toward the ship’s railing. “My father’s about to blow this ship to hell.”

“I heard,” the pirate replied, and his voice had suddenly grown softer. Darker. “The bastard would blow his own … _cargo_?”

Viktor scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You clearly don’t know my father.”

From his position, Viktor couldn’t see the man’s face, but the short huff of a laugh by way of response told him all he needed to know.

They were right by the railing, and relatively in the clear. Most of the fighting was playing out on the main deck, save for the boy lobbing bombs from the mast. As Viktor watched the skirmish play out, he spotted one of the rowboats off the port side, members of his father’s retainer packed within and crying out orders above the roar of the storm.

And he could see a flash of white amidst the uniform hats.

He felt the man beneath him grunt with exertion as he climbed atop the railing, balancing expertly along its edge with Viktor still in his grasp. And from up high, Viktor could see his father, nestled amidst his guard, barking orders and gesturing wildly.

And he suddenly turned, eyes blowing wide as he saw Viktor, mouth gaping.

Viktor couldn’t hear over the sound of ringing swords and the crash of the waves, but he could see his father’s expression. Could see him crying out his name and shoving his way to the edge of the rowboat which was now being hoisted off the other side of the ship.

And something about the fury in his father’s eyes – the _desperation_ – made Viktor’s heart clench uncomfortably.

He was … _worried_ for him?

But a new thought managed to flash its way across Viktor’s his mind. Lord Astor was abandoning ship. Abandoning his _men_ – his _cargo_. Viktor saw red as he realised he’d probably been meaning to use them as bait all along…

Something dark and vicious twisted in Viktor’s gut then. Twisted into something childish and rebellious, flared into a flame by the thought that he was _leaving_. He was finally _escaping_.

And as the realisation dawned on him, he suddenly found himself flashing a grin, wide and cheerful, full of mocking and a strange new sense of _excitement_.

And his father’s shocked expression – the way his mouth twisted into a shout and his face turned red – was _more_ than worth it.

The boat pitched beneath their feet before Viktor could watch any further, the man beneath him gripping tighter about his waist as he all but_ threw _him overboard. The pirate ship was close enough that Viktor cleared its railing, landing with a shout and rolling across the deck.

With shaking arms, he managed to hoist himself upward, watching as the man remained aboard _The Legacy_ with his hand on the rigging, turning back to cry out to his crew. A shout met his call, and though Viktor couldn’t make out the words, it seemed to be enough of a signal.

Satisfied, the man leapt agilely across to his own ship, landing next to Viktor with ease and yanking him to his feet in one swift movement.

“Fucking bastard,” he spat, glaring daggers back across at _The Legacy_. Viktor glanced past him and saw that the rowboat was gone, along with a considerable amount of his father’s men. The adrenaline was a constant in his veins now, heightening his sense and turning his brain to static as the realisation of what was _really happening _crashed down on top of him. He began to laugh – free and manic – doubling over and clutching at his sides.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe I just did that,” he gasped, ignoring the pirate’s confused expression.

“Oh my God, this is ridiculous.”  
Another crash had the pair jerking where they stood, the decking beneath them rolling uncomfortably as the boat was pushed by _The Legacy_’s heavy hull. It ground against the wood, a low rumble that set Viktor’s teeth on edge. He fell onto the railing, sea spray and rain pelting his face as he tried to regain his balance.

“You can laugh all you want in the Captain’s quarters,” the man said in a bitter tone, and as the words sunk in Viktor felt his blood run cold.

“The … Captain’s quarters?” and his voice was a small thing against the roar of the storm. He hadn’t quite thought this part through. He’d figured the man would take him to the hold. Bar him in a cell with cuffs about his wrist, perhaps. Offer him a bit of straw and leave him there until he was inevitably questioned.

He hadn’t factored in the possibility of being held in the _Pirate Captain’s own quarters_.

“He’s going to be pissed, once he finds out your father’s crafty little scheme,” the man said in a low voice, still gazing out across toward the fight with one hand holding the rigging, eyes distant. Assessing. He suddenly turned them toward Viktor, all the playfulness from before surfacing as they danced with amusement.

“You’ll make for a nice little gift.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHhaha 10k words already what the fuckkkk.
> 
> I'm a little bit too invested in this fic to stop anytime soon. It's just _fun_. 
> 
> ALSO WOW, thank you all for the kind comments on the first chapter. So heartening to know I'm not the only one feral for this AU eheh.
> 
> Much swashbuckling love,
> 
> \- Min
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Рыбка - (_Rybka_) - "little fish." It's like a term of endearment for a child.


	3. The Captain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahoy, dubcon ahead
> 
> Try [ this ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0qqH9sDeA48) out for a little mood music.
> 
> And the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter go with [ this ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ojXbO3ThCiM) and [ this ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bp2nCY7z4Wg) song~

_The sea beheld her love_

_Shining bright from on high_

_She bade him come down_

_From his palace in the sky_

_Her love could not be swayed_

_So she took a piece into her heart_

_And all who saw her grief that day_

_Sleep in her bosom still_

* * *

The ropes bit into Viktor’s skin with every movement, bound tight about his arms and legs. The man – who he’d soon come to learn was called “Smooth” – was thorough. It was clear from the way blood could still flow to his extremities that he’d bound people countless times before.

Viktor tried not to think about that too hard, shifting awkwardly on the bed – the _bed_ of all places – to try and get a better vantage point.

He’d managed to glimpse the interior of the cabin – taking note of all exits and entries as he was trained - before Smooth had bodily tossed him onto the bed with a conspiratorial wink. The room was smaller than his own back on _The Legacy_, but no less decorated. In fact, every inch was covered in some kind of ornament, and Viktor could see strange vases and objects littering desks and drawers. Could see a large garment that looked altogether foreign to him hanging from a wooden pole high up one of the walls. There was an ornate desk opposite the bed, littered with charts and bottles of ink, a strange stone statue perched in the corner. It looked like a woman dancing, though the garb she wore was like nothing Viktor had ever seen. The craftsmanship was hard to deny – intricate detailing etched carefully into its surface. But it was so unlike anything Viktor knew that he couldn’t help but feel unsettled.

The whole _room _was unsettling.

Not to mention the absolute monstrosity of a bed – four-postered and inlaid with filigree – taking up a large space in the corner of the room. It was sat upon a raised platform, the rest of the cabin sprawling out on the lower portion.

Viktor couldn’t help but wonder what kinds of people had been in this position before him. What kind of man the Captain truly _was_. He hadn’t had a chance to ask Smooth properly – the man shutting down any conversation as soon as he’d tried, tying a gag about his mouth to shut Viktor up decidedly.

Viktor had managed to work it into his mouth, biting onto it with his teeth in an attempt to talk, but his words were muffled. And try as he might, Smooth never rose to any bait, all trace of prior playfulness and flirtation seemingly gone.

He would have to find out first hand.

The adrenaline had somewhat worked its way through Viktor’s system, the loud rush in his ears dulling as he sat quietly, alone with his thoughts. He couldn’t help the nightmarish images the words _Pirate Captain_ elicited – thick black beard, even thicker gut, reeking of rum and rotten teeth and God knew what else. His stomach churned as he felt fear squirm its way in, sitting heavy and spiking with every rock of the ship beneath him. Moaning around the gag in his mouth as the boat pitched to the other side, he flopped over heavily and screwed his eyes shut.

But the sound of shouts just outside the door had him snapping them open.

He couldn’t quite make out the words, though one voice stood out above the rest.

It was close – coming to him through the wood of the door as if the man it belonged to was just on the other side. From the way the other voices quieted around it, Viktor knew it belonged to a man of authority.

_The Captain…_

The nightmarish images threatened to surface once again, but something about the timbre of the man’s voice gave him pause. It was soft. Light on the ear and almost lilting as it wove its way through the wood of the door. And it sounded like the man it belonged to was _young_. Far younger than he’d expected, somehow.

His curiosity peaked when he heard an unmistakeable sigh. It was a strange sound – something Viktor couldn’t quite make peace with. When had he ever heard a ship Captain _sigh_ like that? His father, perhaps, but it was always an exasperated sigh. Drawn out by something ridiculous Viktor had done.

_This_ one sounded … sad.

Achingly so.

But before he could ponder it any further, the sound of the handle to the door had him struggling to sit up, that uncomfortably sick feeling returning with force.

And the door swung open.

Despite the rolling of the ship beneath him, Viktor felt his whole world grind to a halt.

The man that entered was nothing like he’d imagined. He was small – smaller than Viktor – and his frame was slim. But he could see definition under the strange coat that he wore, the muscles obvious through its fabric. He was far from weak. Yet still leagues away from from the brawny, thick limbed men he’d seen Captain ships before, and further still from the garish images he’d expected.

Viktor couldn’t help but stare as the man stood by the door, eyes downcast. His face was almost too beautiful – hardened in the way he set his mouth, but soft all the same.

And he felt a sudden curiosity surge in his mind – wondering just how _soft _it really was. Because he could see that the man’s skin was _perfect_, save for a seemingly fresh graze across his cheek. The set of his eyes made Viktor wonder if the man was oriental, irises almost black in the low light of the candles set on the desk. They were framed with thick, black lashes, and as he kept them low, Viktor felt a strange tug at his heart.

The expression was so beautifully despondent - so _tragic -_ that it made Viktor want to run to him. To cup his face in his hands and smooth the lines of worry away.

But his face was hidden all too soon, the man – the _Captain _– making his way toward the desk at the other end of the room. Viktor couldn’t help but notice the way his leather breeches seemed to grip in _all_ the right places, the tails of his coat maddeningly obscuring the backs of his legs. But from the way his thighs curved, Viktor was sure the man would be _quite _pleasing to look at without his coat.

And, curiously, he hadn’t noticed Viktor yet, eyes still distant as he began rummaging through one of the desk’s drawers mechanically – like he’d performed the action countless times before. In one swift movement he grabbed a bottle – some kind of expensive wine, judging by the colour of the glass – and drew it up to full lips. Viktor was altogether mesmerised by the way his throat bobbed as he drank, bottle upended, the muscles of his neck working sinuously as he swallowed.

If it weren’t for the gag in his mouth, Viktor would have licked his lips.

Bottle still in hand, the Captain suddenly turned, Viktor sitting up straighter as he laid eyes on him, heart full of fear and something all too close to _excitement_.

The Captain froze, bottle slipping ever so slightly in his grasp as his eyes blew wide. Despite his situation, Viktor couldn’t help but find the expression adorable. His little mouth was set in a slack-jawed ‘O,’ brows shooting up into a tangle of smooth black hair that draped itself across his forehead.

Viktor tried to offer a greeting, forgetting the gag momentarily, words garbling into a muffled sound.

As his muted voice lingered in the air, a moment passed between them, the Captain frozen in shock as he gaped at Viktor – all sprawled on his bed and bound. Before Viktor could try and speak once more, the Captain suddenly turned again, slamming his bottle down on the desk with a loud _thunk_. The sound made Viktor jump, an embarrassing yelp working its way past the gag instinctively.

“Holy shit,” he heard the man breath, a hand moving to cover his mouth as he leant against the desk. “Holy _shit_, are they fucking _serious_?”

“Mmh mmm mmf!” Viktor tried, brow furrowing as he squirmed where he sat. He wanted to question him. No. He wanted to _tease _him. Because his reaction was clearly one of surprise, and now that he could _see _the man, he wanted to know if he’d truly never had _gifts_ left for him before.

The Captain whirled; eyes almost manic with how wide they were. A silence settled as he began to steady his breathing, eyes searching Viktor methodically. Under any other circumstance, Viktor probably would have made himself look more alluring, but the ropes bit uncomfortably into his skin, chafing his wrists and ankles with every movement, and he huffed in frustration.

The Captain seemed to react to his noises, eyes growing wider, the set of his mouth twisting into a strange grimace. Was he in pain? Viktor couldn’t see any sign of battle damage save for the graze…

But rather than come to him, the Captain instead reached for his bottle once more, expression distant and _desperate, _lifting the vessel to his lips and all but _draining_ it. Viktor watched, wide eyed, as its contents emptied steadily, the man hardly stopping for breath as he swallowed and swallowed and swallowed…

And soon it was empty, the bottle slamming back down on the desk with another resounding _thud_. Viktor heard him gasp for air, running the back of his hand across his mouth and hanging his head, back still to him as he leant on his desk.

“Fuck,” he groaned, running a hand along his face, turning toward him with his palm over his eyes. “_Fuck_, this isn’t happening.”

Viktor moaned around his gag, trying to get his attention. His words weren’t making sense, curses and all. Was he truly _this _surprised to see Viktor, bound and gagged, presented on his bed? Did his crew not know his preferences? Viktor felt a strange twist in his gut at the notion – perhaps he would have preferred a _woman—?_

_“_I’m going to need you to _stop _making those noises,” the Captain gasped, raking a hand through his hair and levelling Viktor with a dark stare. The impossibly black pools of his eyes drew Viktor in, curling a new sensation into his chest which simmered and sank low in his abdomen. His expression was commanding. _Reproachful. _It did strange things to Viktor’s mind – equally sending it into a spin of _ideas _and _hopes_ whilst simultaneously rendering it useless. As if all language had suddenly left him.

All he could do was nod in response, hoping his eyes would send enough of a message. He was willing to submit.

_More _than willing, to his mounting surprise.

The Captain seemed to watch him warily for a moment, a soft flush painting his cheeks as Viktor saw the liquor take effect. It gave Viktor’s mind a chance to see reason. To try and make sense of what was happening.

He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he should be afraid. And he _was _afraid. The way the Captain held himself – surefooted and _strong, _jaw set and eyes hard as flint – told of someone used to getting his way. Of someone used to violence. Used to a _struggle_.

But it was a different kind of fear, because it rushed through Viktor’s veins laced with a heavy _anticipation. _Viktor was sure he’d hardly ever felt anything like it before – it was a far cry from the thrill of hand to hand duels in the pits of taverns or the shadows of alleyways. Leagues from the rush of letting himself be captured.

It was dangerously close to a kind of _desire. _

_“_Definitely not nothing,” he heard the Captain mutter behind his hand, eyes still staring, now raking themselves over Viktor’s form in a way that made him shiver. Despite the twist of the ropes, and the earlier manhandling on Smooth’s part, Viktor was still impeccably dressed. He could almost _feel _the Captain’s eyes as they skimmed over him – over the soft cream stockings and shiny black shoes. Along his silk breeches and jocquard vest.

And when his eyes met Viktor’s own, they were even _darker_. Pupils blown wide with a hungry expression that left Viktor breathless.

“Gods, not nothing at all,” the man said softly, almost to himself. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, Viktor finding himself mesmerised with the way his lips rolled with the movement, the soft muscle dragging against his fingers. Despite his earlier submission, Viktor couldn’t help the soft whine that escaped him, eyes flinging wide as the captain levelled another deadly stare his way.

“And not used to following instructions, I see,” the man said in a low voice. Raspy – heavy on the air and menacing. 

A beat passed, and suddenly the man was making his way towards the bed, footsteps slow and measured, eyes never leaving Viktor’s own. He stopped but a foot away from its edge, bringing his hand back to his mouth slowly. Contemplatively. Considering his next move.

The silence dragged on for what felt like an eternity, Viktor feeling the steady rush of blood in his ears build with each passing second. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, enthralled by the way the Captain was _still _watching him. Watching his every move.

Impatience began to surface, and against his better judgement, Viktor felt a sudden urge to force a reaction.

Hoping against all hope that his plan would work in his favour, Viktor let out a long, drawn out groan against the cloth held tight in his mouth, allowing his eyelids to flutter shut as he let his head drop lazily to the side. The sound of rustling fabric had him smiling, but the sharp sound of steel forced his eyes open wide.

The Captain had drawn a dagger – a small stiletto, inlaid with silver and glinting in the low light. It was a beautiful weapon – clearly foreign, from the strange designs on its hilt.

And it was pointed directly at Viktor’s throat.

“Do I have to teach you a lesson?” The captain hummed, lips quirking into a smile, though his eyes remained hard. Viktor watched him warily, scanning his face for any sign of weakness.

Of course, there was none. All Viktor could find was a dark kind of lust, heavy in his eyes and all too clear in the high flush on his cheeks. The colour was beautiful to look at – a dark dusting across brown skin – and as he tipped the dagger to angle directly at Viktor’s jugular, Viktor felt that strange desire surge into a crescendo. He was _deathly_ afraid. All too aware of how easily the man could kill him with one quick movement.

And it _thrilled _him to no end.

Unease and anticipation rolling low in his abdomen, Viktor locked eyes with the Captain, weighing up his options.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline. Or the lingering effects of the liquor. Or the way the Captain’s eyes seemed to swim with possibilities. The way his lips morphed into a grin that was equal parts seduction and danger.

But Viktor found himself nodding – slow and wide eyed – as the Captain’s pupils blew impossibly dark.

“Curious…” he lulled, sinuously moving to crawl onto the bed without hesitation, dagger still raised. His eyes flicked across the ropes that bound Viktor’s wrists, huffing a strange laugh as he smoothed one hand down Viktor’s arm, the touch shooting sparks through his veins.

“Does it hurt?” he asked softly.

Viktor shook his head, breath hitching in his throat as his heart began to beat wildly.

The Captain hummed a laugh, nodding slowly. “Smooth, then,” he said by way of confirmation. “Of course.”

“Mmh,” Viktor tried, attempting desperately to work the gag between his teeth, tossing his head. Because he wasn’t _used _to having his voice taken. Wasn’t used to being so thoroughly _silenced_ in such a way…

“I’ll remove it, soon enough,” and the Captain’s voice was pure sugar. His eyes were dancing now – the sheen across their surface all too clear. He was drunk. He _had _to be, from the way he’d drained that bottle so quickly…

And he was suddenly incredibly close – arching his back and craning his neck up, pushing himself into Viktor’s space. His eyes were heavy lidded – a sight that made all the blood in Viktor’s system rush _dangerously_ low. And as Viktor felt his breath shudder, short gasps making their way past the gag in his mouth, the Captain leant in to flutter a breath across the shell of Viktor’s ear.

“But I rather like you like this,” he crooned, and Viktor couldn’t help the sudden hiss of breath as his heart wrung itself ragged.

The Captain hummed a laugh, low and _close_ right beside Viktor’s ear. Viktor shivered instinctively at the sensation, fear snaking into his stomach and melding with his desire. Because it wasn’t _fair – _the way the tone of his voice had Viktor’s mind reeling into static. The way his _laugh _had all thought of escape shrinking into nothing.

And the hairs on the back of Viktor’s neck shivered, because the Captain was ducking closer, the faintest hint of a touch at his ear honing all of his senses. He almost leant into it, eyes threatening to flutter closed as a whole spectrum of emotions surged through his mind. But all too soon the Captain drew away, shifting suddenly to kneel in front of him, drawing himself up to loom over Viktor ominously.

Viktor could see that the Captain's eyes were impossibly hard, his mouth suddenly set in a grim frown that had Viktor’s blood running cold in his veins.

“I wouldn’t usually do this,” the Captain said then, suddenly all too aware despite his earlier flirtations. “I wouldn’t usually do this…” and the way his brow furrowed had Viktor sitting up with concern. The shift in emotion was so sudden it was like whiplash. As if the Captain had forced himself sober. As if he were talking to himself…

“If I had just _killed him_…” the Captain’s eyes grew almost fierce as he spat out the words, a decided rage lighting his dark eyes momentarily. Viktor could see out of the corner of his eye that the man was clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white, one hand still clenched around the dagger. Despite it all, that self-same urge to reach out and _touch_ him burned a little too strongly in Viktor’s chest once again, his fingers twitching instinctively against the ropes that bound him.

But as the Captain seethed, he suddenly turned his eyes on Viktor, some undecipherable expression flashing across his features in a way that sent raw _fear _shooting through his veins.

“Kneel,” he said, the word low and gravelly, voice thick with emotion.

Viktor furrowed his brow in confusion, trying to speak around the gag with mounting frustration. How could he _kneel _in such a position? But as he leant forward to try and convey some kind of message, the Captain flashed his blade – quick and sure – pressing the flat of it against Viktor’s thigh like a warning.

“_Kneel.”_

The fear sparked into a kind of _terror _that overtook Viktor’s mind – strong enough that his desire was all but forgotten. He instinctively tried to shuffle his legs out from under him, squirming and struggling as the blade remained against his thigh – a constant reminder. Perhaps a much needed one. He wasn’t at home anymore.

He wasn’t _safe _anymore.

With some difficulty, Viktor managed to manouvre himself upright, inching his bound legs around so that he and the Captain were level. He seemed to be watching indifferently, the dancing flirtation in his eyes a sudden unyielding _rage _that chilled Viktor to the bone. Viktor watched on as he gestured with the blade, pulling it away momentarily.

“Down,” he commanded. And it _was _a commandment. The kind an all too experienced Captain would make.

Viktor had no choice but to obey. His mind had managed to catch up with what was happening and _screamed _at him to fight it. To make _some kind _of attempt to flee. He could headbutt the man? Shove against him with all his might…?

But the more he tried to think it through, the more terror he felt. The blade was back at his thigh, pressing _insistently _against the fabric of his breeches in a way that reminded him how quickly the Captain could finish him. One sure movement and his artery would be severed. It might take a while for him to bleed out, but this far out at sea, surrounded by enemies, he’d have no chance.

He crouched lower instead, leaning back down on his haunches and kneeling properly. The Captain seemed to smile at that – if _smile _were the right word. It was more of a sneer. A sneer that had Viktor’s heart in his throat in seconds.

And as he gazed up at the man with wide, glistening eyes – eyes smarting with tears and _desperate _– a wicked thrill of desire rushed, hot and heavy, into his groin.

Because the Captain’s expression was _black_. Dark with lust and _hungry_ for something only Viktor could give him, in that moment. The hunger seemed laced with threats – the threat of pain and struggle and some kind of overwhelming _vengeance. _Viktor was terrified – he didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so consumed before. So ready to abandon reason.

It would have made him sad, if it weren’t so unbearably, _wickedly, _alluring.

“Good,” the Captain breathed, ducking his head and releasing the press of the blade from Viktor’s thigh. “You learn fast.”

Viktor moaned, high and breathy, against the gag, eyes darting to watch as the Captain lifted the dagger slowly. He trailed it along Viktor’s arm in a way that sent goosebumps crawling across his skin, the sharp press of it dragging along the fabric of his coat teasingly. It soon came to rest at his shoulder, the Captain appraising him for a moment. He was close now, craning down towards Viktor’s neck, though Viktor was _acutely _aware of the position he was in. The Captain had forced him low – low enough to come face to face with the breeches he’d so admired earlier.

Following Viktor’s gaze, the Captain reached a hand towards the fastenings about his hips, untying them deftly as the blade began tracing its way up Viktor’s neck. He could feel the cool of the metal against his skin, and the sudden sensation, despite how _soft _it was, had Viktor shivering.

The man’s eyes, dancing close to his own, never left him as his hands continued their work. And as he brought the knife up to Viktor’s cheek, he said in a low voice;

“_Don’t _speak.”

And the knife suddenly snaked its way under the gag, Viktor attempting to keep himself _calm_ as he felt the sharp press of steel slip into the corner of his mouth. With one quick movement, it slid through the fabric of the gag, the release of the pressure causing Viktor to gasp as he worked at his jaw.

Earlier command still reverberating through his brain, he instantly damned the tide of words and _questions – so many questions – _that threatened to spill over, clamping his mouth shut and drawing his gaze back to the man’s eyes.

He only had a moment to register the expression, however, because soon there were soft, insistent lips crashing into his own. It was a desperate kiss – all teeth and tongue the second his lips were claimed. He gasped in shock, the noise eaten up by the Captain’s relentless assault, tongue darting in and licking up into Viktor’s mouth greedily.

_It was glorious. _

It wasn’t the first time Viktor had ever kissed another man. _Far _from the first time. He’d always managed to keep his preferences a well guarded secret, but it didn’t stop him from _wanting. _From seeking pleasure out where he could.

This kiss ruined all others for him in an instant.

Despite the looming fear and panic and _frustration_, Viktor couldn’t help but kiss back, meeting the man’s ferocity with equal measure. As his tongue worked its way around the Captain’s own, he felt the sudden press of teeth against it, moaning wantonly as he was all but _dragged _deeper into the kiss. His eyes closed of their own accord, body growing taught with _need _as he arced up and into their movements. He heard a soft _thud_ nearby – the sound of the dagger hitting the bedcovers – and with it, he felt a hand work its way along the skin of his throat, winding behind his neck and bending him further back. His mind registered, distantly, that he was still wearing his wig, and as if reading his thoughts, the man’s fingers worked their way up and _under _it, fisting into his real hair and knocking the wig loose.

The sensation of the man’s smooth, sure grip against his skull had Viktor keening, lapping up into the Captain’s mouth and relishing the _taste. _It was thick with liquor – a sweet, floral wine he reminded himself he’d have to try sometime in the future. But underneath it was a tangy, almost salty taste. Like citrus and seawater.

But before he could chase the flavour further, the hand in his hair suddenly tightened, yanking _hard _and forcing his head back. He gasped, breaking from the kiss, eyes blowing wide as the Captain smirked down at him.

And he could see, as his eyes trailed down the front of the man’s shirt, that his other hand had finished unfastening his breeches. The sight shocked him, ever so slightly, simply because he wasn’t expecting it. 

But it was _not _an unpleasant sight.

The man’s cock bobbed in front of him, freed from his breeches and standing erect. Despite the strange fear, Viktor felt his mouth water, memories of the taste of their kiss still heavy on his palate. Without thinking, his tongue darted out to lick at his lips, eliciting a dark chuckle from the Captain in response.

And the thought that his gestures were _pleasing _sent unbearable thrills through his abdomen, the blood that had rushed low before now pooling quickly, his own breeches beginning to tent as he grew hard against them.

“I’m not— mmh!” Viktor tried to speak, but as soon as the words left him, his mouth was suddenly stuffed, the man pushing forward with one, sure thrust of his hips – pushing himself in _hard_ – though not hard enough to choke him. It had Viktor moaning with surprise around the man’s cock, the vibrations thrumming in his mouth. And judging by the way the Captain closed his eyes momentarily, head lolling back, he was still _pleased. _

And Viktor found that he was painfully hard now as a result.

“_Good,” _the Captain drawled. “That should keep you quiet.”

Viktor muffled a desperate groan as he felt the man’s cock push ever deeper. _Slowly._ Maddenly slowly, the shaft of it dragging along his tongue, forcing Viktor to taste him. The taste was reminiscent of the kiss, but the flavour was that much _stronger_, Viktor easily coating it with saliva as it slipped ever towards the back of his throat.

And that strange desire to _please _overtook him now, desperate and hungry, drowning his mind in wicked ideas. With another hum, he closed his eyes, swallowing slowly so that his mouth and throat constricted. The Captain gasped above him, hand still fisted in Viktor’s hair, growing tighter as his body grew taught.

“I clearly — ah! — don’t have to teach you anymore lessons,” he managed to gasp as Viktor’s tongue and mouth worked to suck him in, the low rasping of the man’s voice making Viktor mewl around him. His mind was trying to make sense of it all – trying to find some reason to be disgusted. But with the way the man suddenly bucked his hips, rocking his body and pressing into Viktor’s mouth with a strangled gasp, Viktor found he was too far gone to care. Too far gone and too _turned on beyond belief _to question anything.

All he wanted in that moment was more of that taste, and more of the Captain’s praises.

As Viktor sucked again, long and hard, working himself right up to the tip of the man’s cock, the Captain rasped another sigh, hand still yanking at Viktor’s hair, keeping him in place. With a grunt he thrust forwards, fucking into Viktor’s mouth, rough and unforgiving. Viktor felt his muscles tighten as the head of the man’s cock brushed against the back of his throat, choking ever so slightly and screwing his eyes shut. As he did so, another hand moved to smooth at his cheek, caressing his skin almost _tenderly_.

“You’re doing so well,” the Captain said softly, voice smooth as silk, though as Viktor opened his eyes and met his gaze through a film of tears, he could see his expression was anything but. It was almost menacing – hard eyed and _starving_. With no room for negotiations.

Viktor whined and gasped around the Captain’s’s cock, eyes widening in horror as he realised, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, that his hips were moving on their own, grinding back against the backs of his heels as he knelt, desperate for _friction. _Mimicking the rhythm he _craved…_

And as the Captain took notice, the movement eliciting another dark laugh, he suddenly shifted his other hand to the back of Viktor’s skull. As the sensation of fingers twining into his hair thrilled through him, the man suddenly began thrusting, rocking into Viktor’s mouth with sure, fluid movements. Viktor cried out as the head of the man’s cock hit the back of his throat, over and over and over, his mouth filling with saliva, lips working to mouth and suck as the _taste _and the _force _overwhelmed him. He was choking, gasping, seeing stars as he struggled for air, but the Captain was desperate in his movements. Chasing a kind of release in the way he gripped Viktor’s hair _painfully_ hard. In the way he grit his teeth and hissed a breath while Viktor’s eyes rolled back into his head.

“So good… I can’t believe — ah!” And the man began to double over, shivers wracking his body, Viktor recognising that he was close already from the way his thrusting became jagged. Out of rhythm. He sucked harder, working the screaming muscles of his throat to _swallow him whole. _And _God _it was good. So _good _to feel so thoroughly _taken_. It made him almost furious with desire, his hips rolling and rocking in their desperation to find some kind of release. He wanted _more_. _More, more, more…_

“糞 (_kuso_), I’m going to—!" and the man’s words bit off as he crushed himself flush against Viktor’s lips, craning above him as he bent over double. Viktor whined and keened, trying desperately to stay afloat as hot, thick ropes of come burst down into his throat, painting him white and filling his mouth, slewing out and dribbling down his chin.

And as the man fucked into his mouth through his orgasm with a ragged gasp, Viktor felt the man’s fingers tighten into vices, his hair pulling sharply in a way that made his eyes water. The sensation was almost _too much_ – the way he felt so thoroughly _claimed_. So _used._ And as the Captain stilled his movements, hips pressed flush against Viktor’s face, Viktor felt his eyes roll with indescribable _pleasure, _uneven breaths making his chest heave as he scrambled to keep his balance with his hands bound.

“Gods… gods…” he heard the man moan, voice muffled, drawing himself ever so slowly out of Viktor’s mouth. The moment Viktor was freed, he coughed and spluttered, gasping for air and feeling the room spin around him.

And as he managed to catch his breath, he noticed there was a stillness around them – settling slowly as Viktor felt the man’s breathing steady into a rhythm. It startled him, painfully turned on as he was. Because the moment was almost … _tender_. The Captain’s hands were still in his hair and his touch was _soft_. Fingers threading themselves through smooth strands distantly as he slowly came back to earth…

And Viktor couldn’t help but relax into the touch, allowing himself to fall limp as his legs began screaming in pain after kneeling for so long. Tender hands turned insistent, threading down to trail hot touches across Viktor’s neck. Stimulated and desperate, Viktor found his body acted on its own, reacting to the touch as if it were pure fire. He let loose a moan, pressing his face into the Captain’s chest, crushing his hands between them and _scrambling _to _touch him_. He needed, he needed, he needed…

“Do you … really want this?” he heard from over his shoulder, the Captain’s voice raspy and breathless, palms now working their way down Viktor’s shoulders, splaying across his chest, fingering at his vest…

“G—God … _yes,” _Viktor mewled into the man’s chest, inhaling deeply as he squirmed against him, the scent of blood and battle and leather and something _muskier_ filling his senses. It drove him _wild_. Made him want to taste _more_…

“Are you sure…?” the man all but whispered, hands now weaving their way under Viktor’s arms, pressing him close in a warm embrace, hands never stilling in their quest to claim every inch of his skin beneath fabric.

“_Please,” _Viktor gasped, voice muffled as it reverberated through the man’s chest. “_Please, _I need—”

But before he could finish, the man suddenly drew away, eyes still hooded, but lazy – distant. He shifted his hands to grip Viktor’s shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket. As overwhelmed as he was, Viktor couldn’t help the strange constricting feeling in his chest at the sight. At the way the man’s brow creased and his eyes refused to meet his own, all trace of prior lust and hunger all but gone.

And his hands were almost … _shaking_.

“I don’t – " the words stopped in his throat as he dragged his lower lip in his teeth, keeping his gaze low, brow furrowed, deep in thought. The silence seemed to drag on forever, a sick feeling of worry twisting in Viktor’s stomach as he wondered if the Captain really _wanted him…_

Unsure and hesitant, Viktor attempted to grip at the man’s vest, weaving his finger into the fabric, eyes following the Captain’s own as he stared at the empty space between them.

And the Captain’s breath hitched, eyes closing momentarily, one hand reaching up to hold onto Viktor’s own. The touch was warm, one thumb rubbing circles across Viktor’s knuckles gently.

Viktor felt his heart leap in his chest at the touch – _the touch! – _daring to lean in ever closer, forcing the Captain to meet his gaze.

Viktor hoped that what he saw there was enough of an invitation.

This close, and altogether unguarded, the Captain looked almost _sweet_. His eyes seemed to be full of questions, darting across Viktor’s features, searching for some kind of answer. As Viktor kept his grip firm on the Captain’s vest, he managed to squirm a finger under one of the buttons, chewing on his lip as he tried to set it loose. The man took in a sharp breath, body responding as his free hand smoothed back down Viktor’s chest, mirroring Viktor’s own movements and working at one of his gold buttons.

“Please?” Viktor breathed, leaning in close, drawing in another long breath as he came close to the Captain’s neck. He could feel him shudder around him, hand growing more insistent as it worked its way down Viktor’s chest, buttons coming loose one … by one … by one …

Mouth still sticky and raw, Viktor planted a soft kiss against the man’s neck, revelling in the way he shuddered and gasped at the touch, the hand about his own suddenly jerking free. Viktor couldn’t see what the Captain was doing, all consumed by this sudden freedom to claim what he wanted with his roving mouth. So, when he felt the cool touch of metal against the skin of his palms not moments later, he gasped into the man’s shoulder, eyes blowing wide, the fear returning, small and insistent, at the back of his mind.

“Don’t worry,” he heard near his ear, the Captain’s voice soft and small, almost sad. “I won’t—” he let the words hang in the air, like he was unsure of how to continue. How to put into words what he was planning to do.

But before Viktor could try and push himself away, he felt the knife slip down between his bound wrists, one sure movement slicing the ropes with ease. They untangled in rush, falling loose onto the covers beneath them.

“What…?” Viktor breathed, confusion clear in his tone. He was … _freeing him_? But—

“Jacket,” the man said, voice slightly harder, though still unbearably _soft _in the way it commanded him. It took Viktor a moment to realise what he was requesting, but as soon as his mind raced to catch up with reality, Viktor’s hands were moving. Roving across the taught muscles of the man’s chest, slipping under the lapels of his jacket and sliding it over the man’s shoulders effortlessly. The Captain helped him by shrugging his shoulders, dagger discarded back on the bed as he moved both of his hands to continue their work, Viktor’s own vest coming undone with one last tug at the final button.

And Viktor was finally _kissing the man’s skin_, the want overtaking all of his senses, pushing his body to react, to touch, to expose. And the Captain seemed to respond in kind, movements still lazy and soft, easing Viktor out of his own jacket like unwrapping a gift.

The man’s skin beneath Viktor’s lips was hot – _burning _hot and _smooth_. There was a salty taste that met his tongue – sweat and musk and something _more_. It urged him on further, hands now free to rove under the layers of the man’s clothes. Unhitching his vest. Slipping beneath the soft white shirt that bunched at his waist. Gliding across the rough indents of scars and the smooth planes of his abdomen, admiring the way the muscles bunched and rolled beneath his fingers.

“Please,” Viktor whispered again, craning his neck up to mouth at the soft skin just beneath the Captain’s ear, feeling soft strands of hair tickle at his nose. So _soft_. It played games with Viktor’s mind. The softness of his skin, the firm press of his body against his own, the hard swell of muscle as he exposed his arm…

And for every piece Viktor uncovered, he could feel the Captain was exposing him in kind. Working at the ridiculous amounts of layers – jacket, vest, shirt – buttons and ties coming loose under his dextrous fingers. Viktor felt himself grow all too desperate – desperate to feel the man’s body against his. The warmth. The strength. It grew into such a desperate _need _that he all but whined as he kissed and mouthed at all the skin he could find.

It didn’t take long for the Captain to seek him out – to bend his head down and press his own lips against Viktor’s ear. Against his temple. Across his cheek…

And he was kissing him. Far softer than before – messy. _Indecent_, Viktor gasped in his mind as he remembered where his mouth had _just been_. But the Captain didn’t seem to care, tasting himself on Viktor’s tongue as he lapped and licked his way back into Viktor’s mouth easily.

Feeling his clothes fall loose about him, Viktor snaked himself into the Captain’s arms, gasping into the kiss as the intense heat all but melted him into their embrace. It was everything he’d hoped for and _more_ – like the man’s chest was made for him. His shoulders caged him in, strong, sinewy arms draping about his sides, sure, calloused fingertips trailing hot touches down along his spine, his skin shivering and sparking with the desire that all but crashed through his veins.

“I can’t…” the Captain whispered, their mouths parting as he kissed gently at the corner of Viktor’s mouth, voice trailing into nothing. “I can’t … ”

The words thrilled through Viktor’s mind, his brow creasing as the desperation overtook him.

“_Please,_” he managed to breath, letting his eyes flutter shut as the man’s mouth suddenly grew urgent at his words, teeth grazing the skin of his jaw as he continued to kiss his skin. Gently. _So _gently. Working his way down to the column of Viktor’s throat, pressing a hard, open-mouthed kiss to the hollow between his collarbones …

And as he did so, Viktor let out a small cry, because the man’s hands were suddenly kneading at the fabric of his breeches, pulled taught around his ass as he realised he was still grinding into the backs of his own heels again as he knelt. His eyes flew open, wide and shocked, as his body moved of its own accord, responding to his touches like a puppet on a string.

“God, yes… please…” he whined as he let his head fall back, the Captain now kissing his way across Viktor’s shoulder. One hand remained where it was, seeking the band of his breeches with an expert touch, the other snaking its way around to rest between them, making quick work of the fastenings about his hips.

And as he did so, his chest pressed against Viktor insistently, arching him back, his legs bending painfully as the ropes remained bound around his ankles. A soft moan of discomfort fell from his lips, the Captain pausing in his movements at the sound.

Without a word, he slipped his hand down to help Viktor angle his legs, laying them out beneath him and moving to _straddle _them.

The way his body moved was like water – like rolling waves. Sure and smooth. And as he crawled over him, the Captain managed to free himself from his breeches further, kicking them off along with his boots and kneeling over him, naked and _completely _exposed.

Viktor couldn’t stop his eyes from raking themselves across the sudden sight of the Captain's smooth skin, drifting across every scar and bruise, drinking in the whole of him. He was _gorgeous_. Almost too good to be true …

And the man’s hand was smoothing its way down Viktor’s leg, working the silk breeches down to his ankles, dextrously tugging at his stockings. Viktor bucked his hips to make the way easier, feeling the soft fabric pool about his ankles. As the other man’s hand came to a stop where his feet were bound, he leant back and made quick work of the ropes, rubbing one thumb along the soft red marks the bindings had left against his skin.

And once the ropes fell free, tugged loose by expert hands, Viktor found it was all too easy to let his legs fall open, the Captain pushing his way up between them – like it were a road he was _made _to travel. Like the space was tailor-made to _fit _him.

Because it _fit – _God, did it _fit. _As Viktor felt himself grow painfully hard, precum beading on the tip of his cock, the fit of their bodies together was _perfect_. It sent a warm thrill through his system, radiating out from his chest and working into his hands, forcing them to move. To snake about the Captain’s waist. To knot themselves in the muscles of his back. To smooth their way up into that soft, silken hair…

And as he watched, eyes heavy lidded, his gaze trailed down towards the man’s cock, eyes growing wide as he realised he was growing hard _again_. His brow shot up in surprise, mouth growing slack as his heart skipped and hitched in his chest.

“God…” he breathed. Reverently. In awe of how _quickly _the Captain was ready to go a second time.

His voice seemed to elicit a strange response from the man, a soft noise at the back of his throat sending Viktor into a spin. Had he displeased him?

And as Viktor glanced up to meet the man’s gaze, a high, quaking moan tore itself from Viktor’s throat. Because the Captain’s eyes were impossibly dark once again, hungry in a_ different _way that made Viktor’s whole body flush _hot_. Self-conscious, and painfully aware of how exposed he was, Viktor could do nothing but wait as the Captain _stared,_ unabashedly, his eyes roving over exposed skin. Across his chest and peaked nipples. Down his abdomen and over his _painfully _erect cock, reaching up to touch at his stomach…

“Beautiful…” he rasped, voice choked and grating in his throat. Choked with _want_. Because, despite his earlier misgivings, Viktor could see all too clearly that the Captain _wanted _him.

And Viktor felt that same rush of excitement and _pleasure _at the praise. It made him squirm where he lay, completely exposed and wanton beneath the Captain like some kind of harlot. And he _relished _the feeling. Relished how _helpless _he was.

And as the Captain drank in the sight of him, he suddenly moved to crush his lips back against Viktor’s own, claiming him in a rough kiss as he pressed himself down against him. As he _rubbed _against him, hips grinding, back arching. This time the kiss was _desperate_. The lust returning with full force, the man’s cock, hard and slippery from Viktor’s mouth but moments before, rubbing against his own in a way that had Viktor gasping and crying out into the man’s kiss.

Viktor felt himself growing far too close to release at that _touch _alone. His eyes were rolling back into his head, lewd groans and whines swallowed whole as the man continued to kiss him, greedy and urgent – broken momentarily as the man suddenly leant away from him. Viktor flung his eyes open, ready to question him, but as the man moved back to claim him in another passionate kiss, Viktor managed to glimpse something _new _in his hands, and felt his worry surge into _excitement_.

It was a small phial – no bigger than the man’s palm – with a strange, thick liquid inside that looked like a kind of oil. The cork in its top popped loose easily under his thumb, the Captain’s attention so completely claimed in the kiss that it looked like he hardly had to think about it.

And as he continued to kiss him, his free hand suddenly worked its way down and under Viktor’s thigh, kneading at the soft skin in a way that had Viktor gasping for air. His hips rolled on their own, reacting to the touch instantly, his mind working _feverishly _to keep up with what was happening. Because he couldn’t _help himself_. Couldn’t help the way his thighs fell open even more, allowing space for the man to press himself harder against him, to work his legs _wider_, to smooth his fingertips down towards his ass, clutching at the muscles and the soft swell of skin…

Working their way further…

“Mm… what…?” Viktor tried to gasp, mouth still claimed, attempting to reason out what the Captain planned to do. How he _planned to do it_. But all thought of _questioning _fled in the wake of an animalistic desire that surged through his system, taking control of all his faculties, rendering him pliant and helpless as the Captain continued his pursuit.

And he gasped and groaned into the man’s mouth as he felt his other hand suddenly join the first, slipping easily between the swell of his ass, pressing insistently against the soft skin around his entrance…

Slicked with something _warm _and _thick_…

“What—ah!” Viktor flung his head back, voice high and breathy as one sure finger suddenly slipped inside him, pushing past the ring of muscle at his entrance all too easily, slicked with this new, strange substance that Viktor thought he should question…

But he had precious little time to even _think_. To even form words in his mind. Because the man’s finger was still pressing into him, stretching him wider as one knuckle … two … worked their way past the muscle that was now spasming around him. Viktor could feel nonsensical words and lewd sounds bubbling up in his throat, threatening to tear themselves loose as the sensation of being _filled_ \- of being _stretched – _overwhelmed all of his senses. All of his ability to _reason_.

And as Viktor felt the Captain’s _knuckle_ press against him, his finger now _deep _inside and _squirming_, he was forced to let out a cry, voice breaking and drawing out into a wanton moan, the man crushing back against Viktor’s lips with another greedy kiss.

His desperate noises – the moans and gasps and whines – were swallowed by the Captain’s expert tongue, which now licked up into Viktor’s mouth without hesitation. His finger was still working inside him, suddenly touching that tight bundle of nerves Viktor had only ever felt sparingly – had only ever experienced once or twice, in the privacy of his room. His throat constricted around a _scream_, eyes screwing shut as the sensation rolled through him like lightning. Sparks of pleasure suddenly turning _violent_ as _another _finger began pressing into him, worming its way in beside the first, stretching him _wider, _and _wider, _and—

“God! _Yes_!” he suddenly cried, gasping around the kiss, words claimed by an insistent mouth, their lips and tongues and teeth working around each other in a hungry dance.

Try as he might to keep himself under control, it only held for a brief moment. Because Viktor could feel the man’s knuckles against him again, two finger’s thrusting into him fluidly, smoothed by the strange liquid that began to dribble down his perineum and onto the sheets beneath him. And his hips _rolled – _fluid and _wanton – _into the man’s touch, rocking down again and again to try and chase that unbearably _wicked_ feeling. The one that had the muscles of his abdomen knotting in _anticipation_. The one that made his cock feel far too hot, throbbing almost painfully with the promise of an orgasm.

“Not God,” he heard the man growl, suddenly breaking from the kiss and arcing back to gaze down at Viktor, all hot, flushed cheeks and dark, lustful eyes. Because the Captain was fully erect now, cock bobbing between Viktor’s legs, straining up toward the man’s abdomen and flushed at the tip. Viktor found himself taking note of the size, eyes wild with _need _and a strange kind of excited fear. It had been so _long_…

But his mind managed to bring itself back down to earth, remembering the man’s strange words.

“W—What?” Viktor gasped. _Not God?_

“My name,” the Captain hummed, lips quirking into a smile, fingers suddenly slipping loose, Viktor keening at the loss. He could feel himself twitching, hips jerking to try and regain that _tantalising _sense of _friction _and _fullness_. And with his legs free, he managed to draw them up higher, exposing himself with abandon as he pressed his heels insistently into the man’s back.

And the man seemed all too happy to oblige, taking his cock in his hand, guiding himself to press against Viktor insistently. He licked his lips as he watched himself press harder against Viktor’s entrance, the tight ring of muscle spasming around him as he pressed and pressed and _pressed_…

And Viktor was scrabbling for purchase in the sheets, head flinging back against the covers beneath him, back arching into the touch as the head popped _inside him_. Stretching him _wide_ in a way that threatened to tear another scream from Viktor’s throat.

“My … name,” the man gasped, voice completely ragged with desire, eyes now bright and burning with lust as he watched Viktor _take _him. “Is Yuuri.”

And as he spoke his name, he began pushing _deeper, _Viktor’s voice rising and rising into a high-pitched wail, hips rocking down onto the thick heat that threatened to tear him apart. To fill up every space inside him. To stretch and stretch and stretch until Viktor felt like he was going to _come apart at the seams_.

And still, he kept going, the smooth press of his hips slow and controlled, allowing Viktor to twitch and spasm and _relax _around him. Viktor’s own voice echoed back to him – distant and strange to his own ear – as he began to see stars, moaning and gasping and _crying out_.

Because his tongue was finally given a _name_. _Yuuri… YuuriYuuriYuuriYuuri—_

_“Y—Yuuri,” _he moaned, voice all too lewd and broken, the endless sensation of being _filled to bursting _causing his mind to all but cave in. It was _too good_. Too good and _too much and—_

“_Yes!” _he cried, mouth falling slack in a crazed grin, eyes rolling shut as Yuuri_ – Yuuri! – _suddenly sheathed himself all the way inside him, a loud shout of _pleasure _rumbling through his chest as he all but crushed Viktor in an embrace, arms holding him afloat as his hips began to move. He began his thrusts slowly – _agonisingly slowly – _dragging his cock through the tight, slick press of muscle, brushing against that bundle of nerves once… twice…

_“Yuuri, yes… ah…” _and Viktor’s voice hardly sounded like his own – high and breathy and distorted with pure _lust_. Echoing around the cabin, reverberating through the sheets that he found himself _screaming _into. Because Yuuri’s pace was picking up speed – his hips thrusting into him, filling him over and over until Viktor felt tight, white hot desire clench in his abdomen. It suddenly burst into a dizzying haze of _release, _tearing through him violently. And he could feel the hot burst paint his own stomach, spurting across Yuuri’s abdomen in kind, thick ropes of cum spluttering all the way up to their chests. And Viktor was all but _laughing _– choking and gasping for air as his throat _moaned _itself ragged, Yuuri’s thrusts turning erratic, a thick, heavy pulse that _rammed _inside him again and again and again until Viktor was _sure _he’d _already _come apart. Was sure he was lying in pieces, held together by Yuuri’s arms and Yuuri’s hips and…

“Oh my God… my _God…" _Viktor gasped, trying to find the words – trying to think of any other way to bring his mind back to reality. But his tongue was heavy in his throat, mouth completely slack as he groaned into the sheets below him, Yuuri suddenly gasping as his arms constricted tighter around Viktor’s chest, a hot, thick sensation painting his insides as Yuuri came inside him with a broken moan.

“_Yes_…” Viktor whispered, letting himself grow completely still in Yuuri’s arms, revelling in the sensations that rippled through him. The thought of being so _full. _Swallowing every drop of the man’s cum inside him _twice_… knowing he’d been so thoroughly _claimed…_

_“Yes…” _he breathed again, Yuuri all but gasping as he crushed Viktor to his chest, choked sobs of relief echoing in Viktor’s ear as he felt Yuuri’s lips graze his neck. His ear. His cheek…

“P—Please…” Yuuri whined, voice ragged as he tried to regain his breath. “Please … stop saying… that.”

Viktor hummed a broken laugh, trying to work the air into his lungs with every breath, feeling the effects of the orgasm slowly unravel him, thread by thread, into stillness.

How could he ever stop saying _yes…?_

“I … that was—” the Captain seemed to be having just as much trouble as Viktor was in finding his words. Every breath sounded like a struggle as he lay there, holding Viktor close, pressing against him, still inside and ever so slowly growing soft…

“Incredible,” Viktor managed, voice coming back to him broken and ragged, the soreness in his throat from screaming now all too present as the waves of his orgasm began to ebb.

They lay like that for a long while, listening to the sounds of each other’s breathing as they slowly came back to down to earth.

As reality snuck itself back into Viktor’s mind.

“_Incredible,” _he whispered, allowing his arms to thread their way back around Yuuri’s shoulders, turning his head slowly to face the man who had just fucked him so _thoroughly_ he was sure he’d be ruined for anyone else.

And as Yuuri shifted slowly – pulling himself loose from inside Viktor with a slick, lewd sound – he raised his head, eyes far away and hazed with _contentment_.

And Viktor’s heart wrung itself ragged in his chest as he watched Yuuri’s eyes slowly grow hard. Distant and _wary _as reality seemed to dawn on him. Seemed to bring him back down from that peaceful place and crashing back into the small cabin, the waves rocking them steadily. Constant reminders. Constant voices that broke the spell all too quickly.

“I—I’m—” Yuuri suddenly shocked himself away, pulling up from Viktor with a jolt, caging his head in with two strong arms, the muscles bunching and pulling taught with exertion.

“I shouldn’t have—I—” and Viktor could see his eyes were wide now. Desperate and almost _fearful_. Confusion and anger and a miserable _regret_ working their way across Yuuri’s features. Viktor reached a hand out toward him instinctively, but just as he managed to touch the soft skin of Yuuri’s cheek, the Captain flinched away from him, sitting upright in the bed, putting a decided distance between them.

Viktor couldn’t quite comprehend what was happening, the strange rolls of quiet bliss still working their way through his system. But a sickening lurch in his chest had him sitting up quickly, a strange fear that he’d _displeased _Yuuri causing him to try and speak, mouth working to force out the words.

“What … what’s wrong?” he asked quietly, hand still outstretched in a pitiful plea that Yuuri _stay_. _Stay with me…_

But Yuuri was already turning away, scrambling to grab at his clothes that were strewn across the bed and the floor haphazardly. It didn’t take long for him to work his breeches on over his legs, keeping his face decidedly turned away from Viktor’s gaze.

Viktor found he could do nothing but watch, confused and fearful that one word could ruin everything more than he already had, heart racing as he tried to keep up with what was happening. With what Yuuri was _doing_…

Soon, Yuuri moved to sit at the edge of the bed, shrugging his shirt back on over his shoulders, Viktor watching the way his marred and pitted back rolled with the movement.

“I’ll ... have the hold prepared,” Yuuri suddenly said. Softly. Voice strangled and quiet with some unknown emotion. The timbre of it was leagues from his previous growls and biting commands – his breathy moans and shouts of pleasure.

“The hold?" Viktor asked, voice rasping and catching in his throat. "Is that … where I’m to be kept?” And he tried to keep his breath even despite how fast his heart insisted on racing.

“Of course,” Yuuri replied, voice regaining some of its prior control and commanding force. Yuuri was still facing away, gaze fixed somewhere on the wall in front of him.

“Oh,” Viktor breathed, and try as he might, he knew the disappointment was all too clear in his tone. He could almost feel his heart sink ever so slightly at the prospect. Somewhere in the lust-fuelled haze of their embrace, he’d found himself quite used to the idea of staying here. Surely, if Yuuri wanted him as his plaything, that would be the logical conclusion.

But his heart leapt when Yuuri turned back to him, face creased with concern and confusion. It was an expression Viktor couldn’t quite make peace with - so full of hidden words and hidden intentions - as he considered Yuuri’s expression but moments before.

“What are you –? Are you disappointed?” and Yuuri looked almost angry as he leant in closer, brow creased, eyes searching.

Viktor blinked, mind unable to come up with an excuse. “I— well, yes,” he said slowly, chewing on his lower lip, cheeks, already flushed from the earlier exertion, suddenly flaring into a deeper blush.

His words seemed to have some effect. Yuuri’s brows unwound and sprang upwards, eyes blowing wide. He sat like that for a moment, deep brown irises flicking over Viktor’s face in a way that made him feel deeply self-conscious.

“Yes...?” and Yuuri’s voice was achingly soft. Barely a whisper as he seemed to consider the word, speaking it almost reverently to himself, eyes never leaving Viktor’s own.

Viktor couldn’t help but watch him cautiously. He seemed ... almost too pensive, and that irritating sense of not knowing made Viktor's chest constrict uncomfortably.

“I ... didn’t think it would matter,” he managed to say, words bitten off, lifting his jaw ever so slightly.

Yuuri narrowed his eyes, still appraising Viktor like he were some kind of child.

“Didn’t think what would matter?” he asked.

Viktor shifted in the sheets, glancing away, working hard to keep his chin high. “Where I wanted to stay,” he said matter-of-factly.

There was a silence as his words fell in the air around him, and he dared himself to keep his gaze away as long as he could, but that insistent curiosity demanded more. When it became unbearable, he glanced back toward the Captain, watching him out of the corner of his eye.

And Yuuri was leaning closer now, eyes wide, almost impossibly black, searching and questioning and...

“It ... it does,” he said with a chilling conviction under his words, eyes fervent - almost violently so. And Viktor felt a strange warmth surge low in his abdomen at the sight.

“Matter, that is,” Yuuri added, straightening suddenly and averting his gaze, fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt and fastening it over his exposed chest, scars crisscrossing it like faint ink marks.

And before Viktor could try and question him – could try and _talk _about what on _earth was happening _– Yuuri suddenly stood, bending down to work on his heavy leather boots with well-practiced movements.

And, quick as you please, eyes pointedly fixated on the floor, Yuuri fled the room, grabbing another bottle from the half open drawer of his desk in one smooth motion, yanking the door to his cabin open and stealing out into the night. Like a thief.

Like a _pirate_.

And as the door _slammed _decidedly behind him, Viktor suddenly found himself - alone, naked, still gasping for breath and trying to quiet his heart - fall back onto the bed with a groan as his mind _reeled _into confused, desperate static.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mobs brow* haha, yeah, great day we're having am I right guys? HahHAH ...
> 
> As always, thank you all for your kind kind kind comments. I really can't believe it sometimes. Just, bless your collective asses.
> 
> Next update will probably be a while away as I have assignments coming up fast (that I've put off for far too long because HELLO? SMUT?) BUT I'm also a disaster. I'm sure I'll end up back in this stupid AU sooner rather than later.
> 
> And you can find me on [ twitter ](twitter.com/scribblingmin) if you need to scream at me. As you can all probably tell, I encourage screaming...
> 
> Much dark, dubcon, devastating love,
> 
> \- Min
> 
> Translations:
> 
> 糞 - (_kuso_) - "Shit"


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